


Next Best Destiny

by rabidchild67



Series: Next Best Destiny [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Dubious Science, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Science Officer Kirk AU, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 58,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Spock is Captain and Jim the (geeky) new officer in Sciences. </p><p>Science Officer!Kirk - it had to be written</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written after a series of Tumblr posts about an AU where Jim was a nerdy science officer (with glasses, naturally) and Spock the sexy captain he had a crush on. A lot of Jim's characterization here is inspired by that, as well as the visuals provided by fan art the lovely jelff (especially this one: http://usscamelot.tumblr.com/post/73093375417/the-oh-no-hes-hot-situation).
> 
> Jeepers, someone translated this into [Russian](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4325001)!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lieutenant James T. Kirk’s first week as a new science officer on the Enterprise is nothing to write home about: he’s pretty sure Captain Spock thinks he’s an idiot, anyway.

_Keep it together, Jimmy. First days are always tricky. You can do this, don’t screw it up. He’s a man like anyone else. Or, Vulcan, I suppose..._

“Is this one of the new officers in the Science Division then, Commander Williams?”

“Yes, Captain Spock. This is Lieutenant Kirk. He took top honors in last year’s graduating class at the Academy.”

_Oh no, he’s looking at me, and it’s my first day and – JINKIES!!_

“Does he speak, Miss Williams?”

“He did for his interview, sir, and quite eloquently. Captain Pike has nothing but good things to say, as well.”

 _Say something, say anything, saysomethingsaysomethingsaysomething._

“So, you’re a Vulcan, then. Sir.”

_ARRRGGHH!_

“An astute observation, Lieutenant. Carry on.”

_I want to die._

\----

“Kirk!”

“Y-yes sir, Commander Prabhavati sir!” Jim jumped to his feet and scrambled over to stand in front of his new boss, who was not only the head of the astrophysics department, but the Chief Sciences Officer. 

The man did a double-take and looked him over. “You pronounced my name correctly,” he said.

“Yes sir?”

A ghost of a welcoming smile appeared on Prabhavati’s lips and he looked at Jim more appraisingly. Jim wondered if he ought to salute, but an adherence to strict regulation wasn’t Prabhavati’s style, at least not from what Jim’s heard.

“I usually prefer to interview my new staff first, Doctor Kirk, but I’ve heard good things, and Commander Williams was eager to snap you up when you graduated.” 

Jim felt his face redden – he was still not used to people calling him ‘doctor’ even three years after being awarded his doctorate. “That’s good to hear, sir.” He pushed his glasses up his nose – it was hot and he was starting to sweat. 

“Why don’t you find a station in the lab and help me sift through the latest sensor readings? Nothing too stressful for your first day, eh Doctor Kirk?”

“Yes, sir. And um, it’s just Jim, Commander.”

Prabhavati nodded. “And it’s ‘Doctor,’ Jim.”

\----

“So how’d your first day go, kiddo?” Bones reached across his desk to hand Jim a glass filled with two fingers of something brown and then made a show of pulling it back. “Wait, are you even old enough to drink?”

“Hardy-har-har, Bones, you know I am. Though I’m not so sure I want that anyway – what the heck is it?”

“Real Kentucky Bourbon, you Visigoth.”

Jim made a face at his oldest friend – the two had met Jim's freshman year in college – Jim was 14 and Bones, who was 20, made sure no one hassled him. “You got any beer?”

Bones raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You drink beer now?” 

“Yes!” Jim said defensively.

Bones produced a brown bottle from somewhere and handed it to Jim, who struggled to screw off the cap until Bones sighed and threw an opener at him he pulled from a drawer. When he sipped it, Jim managed not to wince at the bitterness – he was really more of a white zinfandel kinda guy.

“So spill it,” Bones demanded, taking a swig at the bourbon. “How was the first day?”

“Mostly OK. I got to meet the Captain when I arrived – he was addressing all the new officers.”

“What’d you think?”

What does Jim think? He thought Captain Spock was brilliant, inscrutable, intimidating, and every kind of hot. He shrugged instead. “I dunno yet – couldn’t get a read off him.” _And I was so tongue-tied I couldn’t speak,_ he didn’t say. “What do you think of him?”

“Well, he’s a Vulcan, and if you can get past that, he’s a good man.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, the lack of emotion, it can be hard to understand for a lot of people. He can be hard to figure. And he misses nothing, let me tell you. He’s smarter than 99% of the people on this ship, which can be hard. And he is hard on people – he strives for excellence in everything, and expects no less from his people. We sometimes argue about that – not everyone has the intellectual capacity of a Vulcan, and he forgets that a lot of the time.”

Jim’s face paled as he imagined anyone arguing with the Captain. He took another swig at the beer, and this time he did make a face. 

\----

Jim tried to balance his PADD on his dinner tray and turned around, searching the officer’s mess for a free table. He sighed when he saw there was nothing completely unoccupied, but he spied a face he sort of recognized. “You’re Pavel, right?” he said, approaching the young Russian who had been in his field combat class his second year at the Academy.

“You are Jim!” the younger man said enthusiastically in heavily accented English as he recognized Jim, bouncing up and down in his chair. “Is good to see you – welcome.”

Jim grinned back at him. “Can I sit here?”

“Da, da, da. Yes!” Pavel pushed his own tray to the side to make room. “Jim Kirk,” – he pronounced it “cork” – “this is Hikaru Sulu, the ship’s helmsman. Karu, this is Jim, he was a year behind me at the Academy.”

“Nice to meet you,” a Japanese man about Jim’s age greeted him. “You one of the newbies that arrived today?”

Jim pushed his glasses up his nose and nodded, then grabbed his roll and began to butter it. “Yes – I’m in Sciences,” he offered, but then glanced down at his blue uniform and realized that was pretty obvious. “Well, duh,” he joked, gesturing. “You work on the bridge, huh?”

“Well, duh,” Sulu said, but it was not unkind at all, and Jim laughed at the gentle ribbing – of course the helmsman and navigator worked on the bridge. 

“What’s it like? Pretty exciting?”

Sulu shrugged. “Sometimes. Mostly it’s looking over your instrument panel and making sure you don’t screw anything up. Captain’s kind of a stickler.”

Jim swallowed. “So I hear.”

“The Captain is good man,” Pavel insisted. “Tough but fair. Some people just don’t understand him.”

“And some people have a tiny case of hero worship,” Sulu countered. He hooked a thumb in Pavel’s direction. “This one got caught up in a bar fight on shore duty a few months back, and the Captain fought off _four Klingons_ to save his bacon.”

Jim whistled low. “Sounds pretty tough.”

“Never get on the bad side of a Vulcan.”

Jim kept his mouth shut. The more he heard about Captain Spock, the more he wanted to learn, and the less he wanted to ever really speak to him.

\----

The next morning, Jim was logging more sensor readings when Prabhavati called, “Jim, will you come here and help me with these?” 

Jim glanced over and saw him pulling an anti-grav cart piled high with PADDs of all makes and models. “Yes Doctor Prabhavati,” Jim answered, bounding over with all the enthusiasm of a bored young man in search of something else to do.

“These are all of our departmental PADDs, and most of them are older models in need decommissioning them. The department is upgrading to the newer models, you see, but we will need the data downloaded before anyone can sync up the new ones. I know this is a task that is well beneath your talents, but all of the lab assistants are engaged today, and as you haven’t yet started a research project…”

“I would be happy to do the work, sir, you can count on me.”

“Good man. I’ll check in with you later, then.”

The job took most of the day, with a quick 20-minute break for lunch, but Jim got it done pretty handily, earning him praise from Prabhavati for doing it in half the time he thought it would take, and a promise that he can leave shift early when he was finished. All Jim had to do now was load them into the large recycler down the hall; the parts and materials they are comprised of will be stripped and reduced to their components, then reused by the ship’s replicators to create tools and, hell, lunch trays and whatever else the ship needs. Jim was fascinated by the tech and had always wanted to take one apart. 

He wheeled the anti-grav cart to the door and realized before he got there that it was too wide to fit through. He parked it to the side and decided to just carry them – one or two trips ought to do it. He began to stack them, alternating them head-to-tail because their bases were designed to be wider and it was awkward. They slid against each other, smooth plastic and transparent aluminum not exactly conducive to this, but he was determined to see this through. It was silly, really, but he’d do this in as few trips as possible.

The first trip went relatively smoothly, though the top of the stack he was carrying began to wobble just as he got to the large recycler room. There was a table there that he set them down on, then left to get the rest. The second set was slightly larger, but he was determined to finish this in just the two trips – he’d be able to leave his shift a whole hour early and he was looking forward to heading down to the med bay and pestering Bones.

He lifted the pile of PADDs from the bottom and took a step toward the door. Recalling what happened with the first trip, he supported the base of the pile with one hand and wrapped his other arm around the top so it wouldn’t fall over. He walked maybe three meters when the flaw in his plan became evident – the middle of the stack was beginning to bow out, the frictionless materials of the PADDs sliding against each other. He picked up his pace – if this was all going to hell, at least he’d be closer to the recycler room. 

He was nearly to the bend in the corridor when he tripped – on what, he didn’t know and it didn’t matter; he rarely actually tripped over anything, really, just his own, big feet. “Holy heck specks!” he cried as he hit the floor, the PADDS clattering loudly. 

A yeoman down the hall turned and gave him a curious look, but that’s not the worst thing that could happen. No, the worst thing that could happen was currently standing over his prone form.

“Why, Lieutenant Kirk, whatever has happened?” Captain Spock said to him in a dry voice, his blank Vulcan expression trained upon Jim.

“C-Captain!” Jim gasped, turning over to look up at him.

“I will never understand the propensity among the younger staff to accumulate so many PADDs,” Spock commented.

“Uhh…’

“The newer models are perfectly capable of storing vast amounts of data on a single unit, and whatever is not immediately available can be placed on the ship’s databanks,” He held out the one he carried, as if to illustrate. “Is this some dramatic means to appear busier than one truly is?”

Jim blinked up at the captain, and noticed that his glasses were askew. He reached up with both hands to right them. 

“I was…”

Captain Spock cocked his head to the side. “Are you quite all right, Lieutenant? Have you hit your head?”

“N-no sir.” Realizing he’d been lying on the floor this entire time, Jim hauled himself up and began to gather the scattered PADDs, thankful he was looking down because his cheeks and his ears were _burning_.

“Are these all yours?” 

Jim shook his head; when he glanced up at Spock, he appeared to be perturbed. All Jim could think about werw four Klingons laid up in a hospital somewhere.

“Carry on, then.” 

Spock continued on his way into the Science Labs, leaving Jim on his knees, muttering to himself, “Now _I know_ he thinks I’m a big goober.”

\----

Two days later, Jim practically jumped out of his skin when a very loud, very shrill noise woke him from a sound sleep. “Great googly moogly, what the heck was that?!”

“Your terminal,” his roommate Hendorff growled at him. Jim was not surprised to see that the other man was already awake and dressed – the security guys have a different schedule than everyone else, having to report for training two full hours before their shift began. “Maybe you should adjust the volume on the incoming messages notification.”

Jim sat up and reached for his glasses, tucked as usual beneath his pillow when he sleeps. The terminal made the noise again and he winced – the sound was worse than nails on transparent aluminum. He stumbled over to his desk and sat down; the incoming message flashed first with the Starfleet emblem, meaning it was an official communiqué – who the heck could be calling _him_ of all people? He pressed the accept button.

“Lieutenant Kirk.”

“Captain Kirk,” he said, blinking in astonishment at the face of his mother. “I thought you were on a mission in the Andromeda system?”

“I am – doesn’t mean I can’t take the time to check in on my baby boy!” 

Jim winced again and cut his eyes over at Hendorff, who was grinning at him with open amusement.

“How was your first week?” Winona continued.

“It was fine – worked in the sensor lab for a while, crunching data.”

“What? That’s lab tech work, do they know they’ve got a certified genius working for them?”

“ _Mo-om!_ ”

She grinned at him. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I am so, so proud of you.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned.” He glanced down.

“What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing. I’m, uh, I’m not really alone here.”

“Ah ha! They stuck you with a roommate?” She called out a greeting, “Hello, roommate!”

Hendorff looked up from pulling his boot on and called out, “Hello, ma’am!”

She smiled at Jim and saw something in his face – he never could hide anything from her. She tutted at him understandingly, “I know your first tour in space can be a bit overwhelming, but what do I always say?”

“’Space exploration is stretches of extreme boredom punctuated by the occasional bout of pure terror,’” he quoted back to her.

“So have fun while the boredom lasts.”

He nodded, looked down at his hands. He’d talk more, but the roommate being in the room, combined with the fact his _mother_ just called him _on a line reserved for official ‘fleet communications_ was a little weird.

“I’d better go. Be safe.” He looked up and gave her a real smile, then disengaged the call.

“I didn’t peg you for a Mama’s boy, Kirk” Hendorff teased. “No, that’s not right – I totally did.”

“Shut up…” Jim scowled at him, struggling for a witty rejoinder, but all he came up with was, “…Cupcake!”

Hendorff opened his mouth to retort, but then just laughed good-naturedly. “Cupcake? What the – why Cupcake?”

“Well, I mean, you eat a lot of them.”

Hendorff stood up and patted his belly. “I’m a growing boy. Now come on, get a move on or you’ll be late for breakfast.”

\----

That afternoon, Jim was working in the lab again when Doctor Prabhavati messaged him from the bridge, where he was on duty, to bring him the PADD that sat on the edge of his desk. Jim messaged back that he’ll be there immediately and jumped to his feet, heading to the science head’s office almost at a run, so eager was he to take a break from analyzing long range sensor data. He imagined this was something a yeoman ought to be doing, but again, it sure beat what he’d doing the last week.

When the doors of the turbo lift opened and he got his first glimpse of the white expanse of the bridge, he was almost blinded by its brilliance. The walls, the floors, heck, even the darn ceiling practically glowed with a bright, white light. Everywhere he looked, officers manned their stations looking 100% engaged and important and _on it._ Beyond them all, a planet hung in the middle of the viewscreen, green-brown and unreal, like something on a holovid. 

This. This was why he joined Starfleet despite the half dozen other job offers he’d gotten after finishing his doctorate; this was where the true mission of Starfleet became reality, in exploring the uncharted, in finding new life and new planets.

This was where he was meant to be.

He couldn’t help the long, drawn-out “Goooosh” that escaped from his mouth. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” a young Lieutenant in a red uniform said as she walked past, her long ponytail swinging across her shoulders. 

“Oh, um. Oh.”

“You lost?”

Jim looked around the bridge and spotted Doctor Prabhavati seated at the Science station, engrossed in something he was looking at through the viewfinder. “No, um, there’s the man I’m here to see.”

She nodded and crossed over to a station nearby, inserting a comms unit into her ear and flicking a few switches on her console. 

Jim headed over to Doctor Prabhavati. “Your PADD, sir,” he said almost before he was standing next to him; he held the item out in his hand. 

Prabhavati glanced up at him. “Oh, it’s not for me, it’s for the Captain. We need his signature on all of the reports in the Inbox there.”

Jim swallowed. “Th-the Captain?”

“Yeees,” Prabhavati said slowly. “Who else is supposed to approve my reports?”

Jim was an intelligent guy, he really was; this should not be a problem. He glanced over to the command chair to see Commander Williams seated there, supervising the goings on with one eye while she read a report on a PADD she holds with the other. He also noticed that Pavel was occupying the navigator’s chair, and Hikaru was at the helm. Hikaru glanced in his direction and nodded hello.

“He’s in his Ready Room – just through that door.” Prabhavati said, hooking a thumb towards a door on the opposite side of the bridge.

“Yes sir,” Jim said, his throat so tight suddenly he can barely get the word out. Turning, he walked slowly across the bridge, the PADD held in front of himself like a shield. He ignored his heart hammering in his chest and swallowed. 

_You can do this,_ he thought, _it’s simple enough. So he’s the Captain, and he’s a Vulcan, and he thinks you’re an idiot. Get over it._

He got to the door of the Captain’s Ready Room – it was even labeled that, on a small titanium plate bolted to the wall – and paused momentarily. _You’re a professional, and so is he. You just get the reports signed and you get out of there. Say nothing._

“Yeah,” he said aloud. “Say nothing.”

There was a control panel beneath the label plate with a few buttons on it. He pressed the call button, the one that would announce his presence to the person inside, so he had a few seconds still before he had to face Captain Spock, and...

Suddenly, the door slid open with an almost inaudible whoosh of air that ruffled Jim’s hair. _Crap!_

“Ah, reports from the Science Division, I presume?” Captain Spock said from behind his desk, looking up at Jim. 

Jim stared, really _seeing_ the captain for the first time since he arrived. His skin was pale and clear, a perfect counterpoint to his dark hair and delicately slanted eyebrows. He was slender, but his shoulders were wide and, Jim presumed based on tales of beaten and battered Klingons, powerful. His elbows rested on the desk, and Jim could see his biceps straining the sleeve of his gold tunic. And his eyes – they were a deep, deep brown, and shine with a fierce intelligence and –Jim hesitated to call it this, but still – _humanity_. 

“Wh-what?” Jim stammered.

“Those are the reports from Sciences?” Spock prompted again.

“Yes, sir.”

They stared at each other for long seconds. 

“Will you bring them to me?”

Jim wished the deck beneath him would open up and swallow him, but he forced his feet to move anyway. He placed the PADD on the edge of the desk and watched as Captain Spock picked it up and began to sign reports with a stylus he produced from somewhere. Jim noticed the captain was left handed and wondered if that was common on Vulcan, resolving to look up handedness statistics later on when –

“We are about to embark on an Away mission on the planet we are currently orbiting,” Captain Spock said, bringing Jim out of his reverie, “and when I asked Doctor Prabhavati to recommend a second person from Sciences to accompany us, he named you without hesitation.”

“He did? Sir?”

The Captain inclined his head, then returned to scanning and signing off on the reports. “I have been exposed to positive comments in regards to your talents, Mister Kirk,” he said, then looked up and fixed Jim with a piercing stare. “Do not disappoint me.”

Jim swallowed, hard, but one word still managed to slip past his lips, “Zoinks!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim’s first Away Mission is far from routine. Naturally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MANY thanks to everyone for their kind comments and encouragement – I love you all.
> 
> For the purpose of this story, I’ve decided that Hendorff’s first name is “Jon.”

_Sensor function… check. Battery charge… 99%, good. Planetary data file… still loading, dang it!_

Jim tapped the side of his tricorder impatiently, willing it to download the data he’d prepared to take with him down to DMP-516, a mining operation on Omicron Alpha. The Enterprise was delivering replacement mining machinery and other supplies to the planet. 

“You ready, Jim?” Doctor Prabhavati said from the doorway.

Jim glanced up and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Nearly – I wanted to gather as much information about mining pergium as I could.”

“What for? It’s not like we’re here to inspect the quality of their output – they have regular visits from Federation inspectors for that.” Though privately owned, most mining colonies were under the protection of Starfleet, who were there more to ensure the safety of the Federation’s investments than to do any actual policing.

Jim shrugged. “I know, sir, but it never hurts to be prepared, right?”

“Sure thing kid,” Prabhavati said, and fiddled with his own tricorder.

When they arrived in Transporter Room Three, two Security personnel were already there, including Jim’s roommate. 

“M.B.,” Hendorff greeted with a tilt of his chin, and Jim felt his ears redden – Hendorff started calling him that, short for “Mama’s Boy,” since Jim’s first call from Winona the week before.

“Cupcake,” Jim replied; somehow, it didn’t sound as bad an insult to Jim’s ears.

Moments later, Captain Spock arrived with Commander Williams, leaving last minute instructions with her for while he is planetside. 

“Shall I hold off on the battle drills until your return, Captain?” she asked.

“Negative, Commander, I see no reason to, as the operation will be under your command.”

She looked floored at his response, and a slight, proud smile played at her lips; she nodded her understanding.

“Now then, I trust the mine’s senior management is expecting our arrival, Ensign Andrej?” he asked the young woman manning the transporter.

“Yes, sir – putting you all down in the central square of the small town where the workers reside. I’m told there’s to be quite a reception for you all in the Main Hall, which will be 50 meters to your southwest when you arrive.”

Spock’s chest rose and fell in a not-sigh and he gave Prabhavati a bland look. “Are we ever to be spared the so-called ‘festivities’ on these missions, Doctor? What is wrong with merely getting down to the business at hand and having done?”

“Captain, you’re the child of diplomats – what do you think the answer to that question is?” Prabhavati replied with a fond smile.

Spock merely raised a delicate eyebrow and strode onto the transporter. The others followed suit, Jim taking one of the pads in the back, and double-checking his equipment. 

“No need to worry, Jim – it’s just a routine check-in, all right?” Doctor Prabhavati said with a reassuring smile.

Jim smiled back as Spock gave the order, “Energize.”

_PHHZZT!!_

“Gah!” Jim jumped and can’t control a shocked gasp as a phaser blast hit the cobblestones at his feet almost the moment they rematerialized. Looking up, he saw the rest of the landing party was similarly shocked; it became clear a split second later that they were being attacked from at least two directions.

“Take cover, take cover!” Hendorff shouted, shoving himself in front of Spock protectively and firing back in the direction of their attackers. There was a very large, decorative concrete planter filled with what Jim recognized as Terran fichus trees and shrubberies at the edge of the square, and the other security person herded them toward it, laying down covering fire. As they ran, Prabhavati was hit from behind and fell. Jim ran back to help, but the man was unconscious and not moving. Spock arrived a split second later, threw him over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing, and they headed for cover. 

Whoever was attacking kept firing at them, chunks of the greenery raining down upon them. Jim reached down to check on Prabhavati – he was unresponsive, but still breathing. Hendorff and the other security person – Jim met her at breakfast just the other day, was her name Parsons? – were crouched down and returning fire when they could. 

“Spock to Enterprise,” the Captain said into his communicator, “we are under attack by persons unknown. Beam us out immediately.”

“Working on it, sir, but we can’t get a lock, there’s something interfering!” came Andrej’s reply. 

A corner of the planter exploded above them and Hendorff cried out; he went down, clutching at his shoulder.

“Jon!” Jim shouted, going to him. Hendorff was groaning and cursing a blue streak, holding the bleeding injury with his opposite hand; Jim looked around for the phaser he’d been using and spotted it on the ground about four meters away. He wa contemplating diving after it when he heard the rush of footsteps. Parsons fired at the advancing attackers but there were too many; she went down when a blast hit her square in the chest. 

“No!” Jim shouted, but was brought up short by one of their now-captors, who leveled a phaser at his face and shook his head. 

“Uh-uh-uh, Fleet-Rat, that’s quite enough,” the man said, gesturing with his phaser for Jim to stand. He was a human, mid-forties from what Jim could tell, with a tan face and a shock of white, unruly hair. Jim did as he ordered and stood with his hands in the air.

“You too,” White Hair said, gesturing at the Captain, who didn’t move a muscle.

“This man is injured, I will not leave him,” Spock said with almost no inflection in his voice as he crouched protectively over Doctor Prabhavati.

“A Vulcan – wow, don’t see too many of you guys around usually. Well, listen, Vulcan, I need you to come along, but I don’t necessarily need all of you. Now, he’s not dead, but he will be if you piss me off. That sound logical to you?”

Spock regarded him, and for a moment Jim could see nothing but darkness in his eyes; but he finally rose to his feet and stood straight-backed before their captor. White Hair bent over, pulled Hendorff to his feet roughly, and pushed him forward. “Let’s go.”

“I do not think I need to inform you that your actions are highly illegal, but I demand to know where you are taking us,” Spock said.

“We’ll let you know when you need to know,” White Hair said, pushing Spock forward with a phaser in the small of his back. 

They were taken to a transport and blindfolded, their communicators and other gear stripped from them. Their arms were bound behind them and they were made to sit on the floor; Hendorff was beside Jim, Captain Spock presumably on the other side of Hendorff. Jim heard Jon’s breathing, harsh and heavy in his ears; he was clearly in a lot of pain.

The trip took nearly an hour from what Jim reckoned; their blindfolds were removed before they got out of the transport. When they exited the vehicle, they were inside one of the pergium mines. They were then taken down one of the passageways to a makeshift holding cell cut into the living rock of the mine; there was a force field set up across the front of it that glowed slightly. White Hair disengaged it.

“You and you – get inside,” he ordered, pointing his phaser at Jim and Hendorff.

Despite his injury, Hendorff put himself between Captain Spock and their captors. “I go where he goes,” he said from between gritted teeth.

White Hair punched him in the gut twice, and when he was doubled over, ground the heel of his hand into Hendorff’s injured shoulder; Jon cried out briefly before falling to his knees. Jim surged forward to intervene and was pushed away by one of their other captors; recovering, he threw his fists around wildly, managing to land a punch or three before the man kicked his leg out from under him and put him on the floor. Jim was choking, with a boot at his throat, when a loud voice cut through the melee.

“Hendorff and Kirk, you will stand down!” 

Jim looked up through glasses hit askew by the brief altercation, to see Spock looking back at him calmly. 

“This pointless display of defiance, while undoubtedly satisfying to you, serves no purpose other than to increase the risk of injury to your persons. These men clearly have a wish to speak with me, though I hasten to remind them that Starfleet will make no deals with terrorists.” He looked at White Hair disdainfully. “Or thugs,” he added. White Hair advanced on Spock, but the Captain stood his ground. The two men stared each other down, and it was White Hair who blinked first.

“Come with us, Vulcan,” he said, stepping out of the cell and gesturing for his men to put Jim and Hendorff inside, which they did none too gently. 

Within a minute, they were gone, leaving Jim and his injured roommate alone behind the slight glow of the force field.

“Well, that went well,” Hendorff said. 

“What the heck? I mean, who were those guys anyway, and what do they want with the Captain?” 

“What do they usually want?” Hendorff replied. “The attention of the Federation for whatever bullshit cause’s got their panties in a wad.”

“What, does this happen all the time?”

“Seems like it sometimes.” Hendorff sank down to the ground, holding onto his injured shoulder and wincing.

“You OK, Jon?” Jim asked, kneeling down beside him and peering down at his shoulder.

“Nothing a few hours with a dermal regenerator and Nurse Chapel’s gentle ministrations won’t fix,” he said with a groan.

“Is it bleeding badly?”

“It is now,” Jon said. “Stopped before, though.”

“Let me see?” Jim pulled Jon’s fingers away gently and winced when he saw the fresh blood trickling from the wound, which was jagged and ugly and guaranteed to merit Bones’ most creative swear words. Jim pulled off his uniform tunic and held it to the wound, pushing down on it as hard as he dared. 

“Aw crap, Kirk, are you trying to kill me?” Jon protested, but he didn’t do much of anything else.

“It needs direct pressure to stop the bleeding,” Jim pointed out. “That’s basic first aid.” He laid a firm hand on the back of Jon’s shoulder to provide leverage against the pressure he put on the front. It took a long while, but eventually the bleeding slowed and eventually stopped. Jim pulled away, wiping the blood on his hands on his trousers as he stood. “Keep that on it,” he said, indicating his now ruined shirt, “don’t want to open it up again.”

“Thanks, Jim – you’re a good man.” 

Jim just shrugged – he did what anyone would have done, he reckoned. He walked around the edges of the small cave they’re in, looking for anything that might help them either escape or find a way to contact the ship, when his attention was drawn by something he saw in the rock wall itself. He crouched down and ran his fingertips over the exposed ore, observing its color, scratching at the material with a fingernail, and finally smelling it.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Jon quipped.

Jim blinked at him and pushed his glasses up his nose. “I would if I still had my tricorder,” he said, then looked back at the wall. _Something’s just not right,_ he thought.

His train of thought is interrupted by the return of Captain Spock with a pair of their captors, though not their gang leader with the white hair. Jim rose and took a step towards the door, but Spock was shoved inside and the force field raised before he could really do anything. “C-Captain?” Jim said.

Spock regarded him coolly, as if he was an inanimate object. “Lieutenant Kirk, I trust you are unharmed?”

“I am, sir, but golly, are you?” Jim noticed for the first time the abrasions and swelling on the left side of Spock’s face.

Spock raised a hand to his face but then lowered it before he touched himself. “Our captors… did not like my manner of negotiating with them. That is to say, my refusal to do so inflamed their anger, and they made their… displeasure known. It is nothing.”

“Did you make _your_ displeasure known, sir?” Hendorff asked from his spot on the floor.

Spock raised an eyebrow, whether at Hendorff’s impertinence or something else, Jim couldn’t tell.

“I believe your human response might be, ‘you should see the other fellow.’” He crossed to Hendorff and got down on one knee. “How is your injury, Lieutenant?”

“Not so bad, sir. Kirk here helped me out.”

Spock took in the bloodied blue tunic. “Indeed? Good work, Lieutenant.”

Jim blushed, proud to receive the compliment, and looked down at his boots.

“What did they want, sir?” Jon asked.

“The usual – they feel they’re being mistreated, that the management here are neglecting their interests. They think the kidnapping of Starfleet officers will serve to further their cause, though I fail to understand such thinking.”

“Weird that they’d get violent, though, right?”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps not though, Captain,” Jim piped up, and then nearly flinched when the Captain turned his attention on him.

“How so, Lieutenant?”

“W-well, the ore here, sir?” He went back to the spot he’d been examining and laid a hand on it. “It’s pergium, but it’s pergium-224. It’s less stable, yields less energy when refined. You can tell by the color here – it’s kind of a reddish-silver? And the smell.”

“The smell?” Hendorff asked.

“Yeah, it, um, it has a metallic smell – regular, high-grade pergium doesn’t.”

“How do you know this? I understood your specialty was astrophysics, Lieutenant, not geology.”

 _He knows what I do?_ Jim couldn’t help thinking. “No, sir. I mean, yes sir. I mean, I read up on pergium mining and downloaded it all to my tricorder before we came down here, you know, just in case.”

“Before we came down? There was perhaps an hour between your receiving the assignment and our beaming down,” Spock pointed out, moving over to where Jim stood. Jim didn’t respond. Spock reached out to touch the ore; as he did, his sleeve brushed against the back of Jim’s hand, and Jim’s heart about stopped. 

Jim closed his eyes, and ignored the way his voice rose an octave as he responded, “I read really fast?” 

Spock scratched at the soft ore and smelled the residue on his fingers. “You are correct – there is a detectable, metallic tang,” Spock said. “What is the significance of this?”

“Its relative instability makes it dangerous – prolonged exposure can cause certain blood cancers, and something called Hastings-Yuan Disease, which is indicated by a loss of skin and hair pigment. Untreated, it’s almost always fatal.”

“Hair pigment, you say?” Spock asked, stepping closer to Jim. 

“G-guess that explains the uh, the um…” Jim could barely think straight with the Captain in such close proximity

“Many of the rebels’ have hair that has gone prematurely white,” Spock finished for him. “I saw no fewer than half a dozen of them earlier. But if your observations are accurate, why would these people stay to work in mines that are a danger to them?”

“Maybe they don’t really have any choice about it?” Hendorff said. “I noticed a few prison tats on some of them.”

“Are you suggesting these men are prisoners?” Spock asked.

“Or cheap labor,” Hendorff said with a shrug. “Ex-cons can find it hard to get work.” 

“Though their plight may very well be pitiable, they have committed crimes against Starfleet. Such a transgression cannot be ignored.”

“But they’re dying,” Jim said before thinking, amending, “sir.”

Spock looked at him with an expressionless face, the moment stretching and stretching. Jim felt simultaneously pinned by his dark gaze and desperate to look away, but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. He wasn’t sure.

“A valid point, Mister Kirk.”

A sudden crash and the sound of phaser fire interrupted their conversation and they spun around. There was the sound of running feet coming down the tunnel, and Jim thought for a fleeting moment it could be security forces from the ship coming to rescue them, but it wasn’t – it was their white-haired captor and some of his men. They held phasers.

“They found us – your Starfleet friends have found us,” the leader practically spat out as he disengaged the force field.

“This should not be a surprise, as I informed you earlier. My staff is very diligent in the performance of their duties,” Spock said. 

“I wouldn’t be too smug, Vulcan – I’m the one with the phaser.” 

“You would add murder to your list of crimes, then?” Spock asked calmly. 

“We have very little to lose, Captain,” White Hair replied, making an adjustment on the phaser and pointing it at Spock’s head. 

Jim swallowed as he heard the distinct sound of a phaser powering up to the “kill” setting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gets a promotion and makes a discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some folks have commented on the OOC-ness of Jim in this story, and my response to them is: you betcha! First off, his overall dorkiness and penchant for shouting out “Golly!” and etc. is how the whole thing evolved on Tumblr and it’s what made me fall in love with him enough to write this. But beyond that, this was never meant to be an AU where the only difference is that Jim is wearing Science blues and Spock Command gold – there are life choices and experiences that have made them what they are here. It doesn’t mean they aren’t fundamentally the same people we know – they’re just taking different paths to getting there. Is Jim still the confident guy who Admiral Pike might admire for his tendency to “leap before looking”? Absolutely – he just doesn’t necessarily know it yet. This story aims to show that evolution.
> 
> Also: please ignore the science in this, for it is all utter bullshit. Seriously, it's just me throwing words at the page...

Check the lovely fan art [tif-oh-two](http://tif-oh-two.tumblr.com/) made of Science Officer Kirk!

\----

“THERE’S A CURE!” Jim shouted, hand outstretched as if he could stop White Hair from pressing the button that would vaporize Captain Spock. 

Everyone in the room jumped at his outburst, except for Spock, whose eyebrow, if possible, rose even farther on his forehead. 

“A cure for what?” White Hair said, giving Jim the stink-eye; his thumb was still on the fire button, but his attention was on Jim now.

“Hastings-Yuan Disease. People only get it after prolonged exposure to low-grade pergium. You have it.” Jim’s voice wavered as White Hair pointed his phaser at him. “I can tell.” Jim raised both hands non-threateningly. “I mean, why else is your hair white? And, like, have you been having night-sweats? And, uh… b-bloody stools?”

“Watch yourself, kid.”

“These are all symptoms of the disease, and all of your people – all of your human people, anyway – are going to die from it if they don’t get treatment soon.”

“Why should I believe you?”

There came the sound of more phaser fire and shouts from up the mine, this time closer than before. “I guess you don’t have to,” Jim answered, “but orbiting this planet is a fully-staffed Starship with a crack medical team who will tell you the same thing. If you kill us – I’m not sure they’ll feel all that compelled to help.” 

White Hair glanced over to one of his men, who nervously shifted from foot to foot. “Rory, come on, the twins are getting sicker, and if these guys know what’s goin’ on –“ the man began, but Rory cut him off.

“Shut up and let me think, Nelson!”

“OK, but like, you’re running out of time, Rory.” Jim flinched as the man advanced on him a step. “ _Can_ I call you Rory?” Jim licked his lips as Rory regarded him balefully. “Anyway, those phasers you hear? Are Starfleet issue, which means any minute now about twenty guys bigger than my friend over here will come running down that passage, and if that happens then, well, I can only think of a couple of ways that ends, and the least appealing one is that all of us wind up dead. So time is kind of running out.”

“We have _legitimate demands,_ ” Rory insisted.

“And they’ll be listened to, and respected, I promise. And if you give up to me here and now, then none of us will even press charges.” Jim was dimly aware of his Captain turning to face him, but would not look at him. “What do you say?” Jim still had his hands up, but they were in front of him now. As he spoke, he stepped forward and turned his right hand over. “Give me the phaser?”

For a moment, their eyes locked, and then Rory was handing the phaser over to Jim, who took it very gingerly and flicked the setting all the way down to stun with both his thumbs, as quickly as he could. When he looked up, the other three men with Rory were also handing him their phasers, and standing before him with their hands in the air. Jim juggled the phasers awkwardly.

A moment later, a group of a dozen red-shirted security personnel from the Enterprise came jogging down the tunnel to find their newest Science Officer pointing a phaser at their captors upside-down, and their Captain regarding the entire scene as if he smelled something unpleasant. 

\----

“Are you out of your corn-fed mind? What do you think you were doing promising those men a cure – what if they already were too far gone?”

“Aw, come on, Bones, you know you’re the best doctor in the fleet – not just rhetorically, empirically. I’ve seen statistics.”

“Oh you have, have you? And stop calling me that in public – it’s starting to catch on around here.”

Jim made a face and kicked his feet against the biobed he was seated on. “It’s better than Leonard.”

“I’ll have you know that Leonard is a family name with a long and dignified history.” 

“And it makes you seem like you’re about 60. _Bones_.”

Bones scowled as he finished scanning Jim and entered a notation on a PADD. “No sign of pergium exposure, now get the hell outta my sickbay, boy.”

Jim paused as he was pulling his black undershirt back on. “You _will_ be able to help ‘em, right, Bones?” he asked earnestly.

Bones became very serious. “M’Benga says that some of them are showing signs of advanced exposure, but we should be able to cure them of the disease, although they’ll have shortened lifespans because of this.” 

“That low-grade pergium’s dangerous stuff - I don’t know what the people managing this outpost were thinking,” Jim said, straightening out his tunic.

“Probably that they could refine the ore on-planet and try to pass it off as the higher grade stuff, make a big profit,” Bones pointed out. “Greed is a great motivator.” 

“I just don’t understand.”

“Yeah, well, some day you will, and more’s the pity, kiddo.” Bones put his scanner away and sat back on his stool. “Now – 24 hours’ mandatory sick leave, and I’m prescribing a session with the ship’s psychiatrist to make sure your melon’s still on straight after what happened.” When Jim opened his mouth to protest, the doctor gave him one of his most stern scowls, and Jim closed it with an audible click. Bones then shooed him out of sickbay, citing more important patients to look after.

On his way out, Jim spotted his roommate in a treatment room similar to the one he’d just left, seated under a piece of regenerating equipment positioned over his injured shoulder. 

“Jim!” Hendorff greeted him with a smile when he entered.

“How are you feeling, Cupcake?” Jim was more relieved to see his roommate safely in sickbay than he’d ever admit.

“On the mend – I’ll be able to go back on duty in a couple days.”

“Doctor Prabhavati and Ensign Parsons are going to be fine, too,” Jim told him, and Jon looked relieved.

“Good. I think we all got a lucky break today.”

“Gosh, are all Away missions like that?” 

“They’re not supposed to be, especially when we’re visiting a so-called Federation-sanctioned outpost. Let me tell you, heads are gonna roll back home over this.” He shook his head pensively, but then looked up at Jim with a bright smile. “And you showed pretty quick thinking back there, MB, selling that bullshit about a cure to some disease?”

“It wasn’t bullshit – they really are sick, and there really is a cure.”

“Even better then.”

“You think those guys, will have to go to jail now?”

“No idea, though I think a lot’ll depend on what the Captain reports back. I can’t believe you offering them immunity like that.”

“I just said we wouldn’t press charges.”

“You should speak for yourself.”

“I think I was desperate.”

“As long as it doesn’t become a _thing._ Vulcans are sticklers for the regs, especially our Captain. You’ll be lucky if you don’t get your ass handed to you.”

“Golly, you think so?” Jim was suddenly nervous.

Hendorff shrugged and then winced when it pulled at his mending muscles. “One thing I do know – once the doc clears me for active duty, the first thing I’m gonna do is teach _you_ how to fight properly.”

“Hey! I passed all my hand-to-hand classes just fine.”

Jon shook his head pityingly. “You fight like a Vendorian – all flailing tentacles and high-pitched grunting. I don’t know what they call what they teach you science geeks at the Academy, but it ain’t fighting. Anyway, I owe you now, so let me repay you in this way.”

“Fine. Just – don’t beat my ass too bad.”

“I make no promises.”

\----

Jim went back to his room intending to shower and get some sleep, but was still too keyed up from the day’s events to do either. Glancing at his chrono, he saw it was only 20:30 ship’s time, so he headed to the mess for a bite of dinner.

“Jim! Jim!” 

He turned away from the replicators when he heard his name to see Pavel and Hikaru at a table in the middle of the mess. Pavel was waving him over excitedly.

“Hi guys,” Jim greeted, taking the unoccupied seat next to Pav.

“All hail the conquering hero,” Hikaru said with only a hint of teasing in his tone.

“Aw, come on.”

“You saved the Keptin’s life, Jim,” Pavel said. “Take a moment to revel in it, and then tell us all the gory details that won’t be in the official report.”

Jim self-consciously adjusted his glasses. “Gosh, I only did the first thing that popped into my head. It was nothing.”

“You saved the Captain’s life, it wasn’t nothing,” Hikaru said.

“That didn’t enter into it. I mean, it wasn’t important. I mean, who he was isn’t important. I mean…” he took a deep breath and then gulped down half the glass of milk on his tray. “Everything I say is coming out wrong.”

“So tell us all about it, we’re dying to hear what happened,” Pavel said, bumping his shoulder up against him as Jim took a large bite out of his hamburger.

When Jim finished chewing, he began his story at the only logical place he could think of – pergium mining. Ten minutes later, his friends were watching him, glassy-eyed, as he went on about the many uses for the ore and its efficiency of energy transfer in providing for the power needs of countless colonies throughout the Federation. 

“Oh my god, I think I lost feeling in my brain,” Hikaru said.

“Shut up,” Jim said. “It’s an important part of the story.”

“Is it an _interesting_ part of the story? Get to the part where you saved everyone.”

Jim really was not comfortable rehashing this, because it felt too much like bragging. “I dunno – it wasn’t a huge deal, really.”

“Not a huge deal?” Pavel said, and lowered his voice dramatically. “They were desperate men, with a full Starfleet security detail about to take them down. They probably planned on killing you all!”

“No, they didn’t,” Jim said, shaking his head, but when he thought back and remembered the desperation in those men’s eyes and the determined set of their jaws, he couldn’t help but shiver, and his hand trembled slightly when he reached for his second glass of milk. _Gee whiz!_

Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Yeoman Rand, Spock’s assistant. “Lieutenant Kirk?” she said, standing at the table and waiting for him to acknowledge her. She was very pretty, but also very serious, with an air of gravitas that instantly gained people’s attention; the fact she spoke with the authority of the Captain was not lost on Jim.

“Yes?” 

“Captain Spock would like to speak to you –“

Jim got to his feet too fast, knocking the chair over behind him.

“Hold on there, cowboy – he wants to speak to you first thing in the morning,” Rand qualified, “at 0700 in his Ready Room. Do not be late.”

“Oh, OK,” Jim said, righting his chair and sitting back down again. He watched her go.

“What do you suppose he wants to talk to you about?” Pavel asked excitedly. “Perhaps it is to give you a commendation! For bravery in the line of duty!”

“Or just to get your input for the official report – don’t forget you should write a mission report up too – better to do it sooner than later, I always say,” Hikaru suggested.

“Oh, you always say? You never get your reports in on time,” Pavel accused, and then the two of them were bickering over Hikaru’s work habits, leaving Jim to stew over the real reason Spock would want to talk to him. 

_Vulcans are sticklers for the regs,_ Hendorff had told him. _You’ll be lucky if you don’t get your ass handed to you._

Suddenly, Jim was no longer hungry.

\----

Jim made it to the bridge the next morning by 0650, and loitered in the corridor outside the Captain’s Ready Room, wondering what to do with himself. He’d barely slept the night before, so nervous was he about this meeting, with Hendorff’s words about the Captain and his adherence to regulations weighing on his mind. 

“Right on time I see, Mister Kirk,” said a voice behind him and he whirled to see Captain Spock standing behind him, his ever-present PADD slung under his arm.

“Y-yes, sir,” Jim stammered and then closed his eyes tight – he had to get a hold of himself.

Spock disengaged the door’s lock and gestured for Jim to precede him into the room. Jim stood at attention just inside the door as Spock walked past and to his desk. “You may take a seat,” Spock said, gesturing to one of the two chairs that sat in front of the desk. Jim took the one specified and sat on its edge, back as straight as he could make it.

“I wished to discuss your behavior on the Away mission yesterday, Lieutenant, it was most c-“

“I know, and I’m sorry sir,” Jim interrupted, his nerves getting the better of him. “It won’t happen again!”

“What will not happen again?”

“I – I know I was wrong to speak out as I did, and to make promises to those men I had no power to keep, and it won’t happen again – next time I’ll be better. There will be a next time, right? Gosh, please say there’ll be a next time, because –“ he paused, having run out of breath, and the Captain took the opportunity to speak.

“Please cease this prattle, Lieutenant, it is unseemly.”

“Sorry.” Jim looked down at the floor.

“As I was saying, I wished to discuss your behavior on the mission yesterday, and to commend you on your preparedness and quick thinking. Your actions prevented further violence and, I daresay, saved more than one life. You have my gratitude, Lieutenant, and that of Starfleet.”

Jim looked up at Spock as he finished speaking, transfixed as before by the Captain’s deep, dark gaze; he licked his lips nervously.

“Now you may speak,” Spock prompted after several moments.

“Yes, sir. You’re welcome, sir.”

“In recognition of your actions, I offer you a promotion to Bridge duty, where your talents will be put to sufficient use. Are you up to this challenge, Mister Kirk?”

“Yes _sir,_ ” Jim replied, forgetting to be intimidated for the moment and grinning back at the Captain proudly. 

Spock stood, and so did Jim. “Very well, I shall inform Doctor Prabhavati of your change in status and ask Commander Williams to add your name to the rotation as well. You will, of course, receive the standard bump in salary this increase in your duties commands. You are dismissed.”

Jim suppressed the urge to try to shake the Captain’s hand – not that he’d have had the opportunity, since Spock kept his hands behind his back the entire time – and managed a sloppy salute before rushing from the room. He nearly tripped on the carpet in the corridor in his haste to make it to the nearest turbo lift, but he didn’t care – he couldn’t wait to run to tell Bones the news.

\----

“I know, but it’s like she barely notices me.”

Jim walked wearily into his room and paused to do a double-take, taking in the scene: his roommate was seated at Jim’s desk, hunched forward and speaking into Jim’s terminal.

“Have you spoken to her about it, Jonathan? I find a direct approach is always the best one.”

Jim recognized his mother’s voice coming from the speaker. 

“Easier said than done, ma’am.”

“Am I seeing things?” Jim asked. “Is my roommate having a subspace chat with my mother?”

Hendorff pivoted the screen so that Jim could see Winona staring back at him. “Don’t be silly, dear, we’re discussing important matters. And stand up straight.” Jim straightened his back from the slouch he’d adopted upon arrival, then moved closer to his desk. “How was your first bridge shift?” Winona asked excitedly.

“Yeah, how’d it go?” Hendorff asked, then rose to go and get ready for bed.

“OK, I guess. Nothing much happens on gamma shift.” Jim frowned in disappointment.

“Well, you can’t expect the excitement of a hostage crisis every day – when would you get any work done?”

“She makes a good point, Jim,” Hendorff said, pulling his dopp kit out of his tiny closet. 

Jim scowled at him. His enthusiasm for the promotion to bridge duty had lasted until Commander Williams had posted the rotation a week ago, slotting him in for three shifts at gamma per week for the next eight weeks. He supposed it could have been worse – he could have been stuck with graveyard – but it was a very, very small comfort to him. 

“You’re right,” he conceded, shaking it off. Besides, it was probably better this way, because he didn’t necessarily trust himself not to act like a star struck, teenaged girl in the Captain’s presence.

“Of course I am,” Winona said, beaming at him. “Now I’d better go – I’m due to speak at this seminar in an hour.” She rolled her eyes, but Jim knew she loved speaking about her work; in addition to commanding a top research vessel, Winona held a doctorate in xenobiology and one in genetics – her specialty was comparative genomics.

“Thanks for checking in, Mom.”

“Love you,” she called before the screen went dark. 

Jim smiled slightly and then sat on his bed to remove his boots. “Dude, you talk to my mom?” he said to Hendorff as he was heading into their bathroom.

“What? When it rings and you’re not here, I answer it – I didn’t want her to have to leave a message. Anyway, she’s really easy to talk to.” 

“Yeah, I noticed – you’re practically spilling your guts to her! Having relationship problems, are we?” 

Jon frowned. “No. Yes. I can’t get Yvonne to talk to me anymore.”

“Could that be because you were flirting with Ensign Petrovsky in the mess yesterday? And Nurse Chapel the other week?”

“But that’s just harmless flirting,” Jon said, stepping into the bathroom.

Jim rose and followed him, leaning against the doorway. “Well, it seems to be harming someone – you. Pay more attention to her, and Yvonne will come around, trust me.”

“So you’re the big lothario now?” Hendorff laughed, starting to brush his teeth.

Jim rolled his eyes. “Hardly, but I know how it’d make me feel if I was into someone who kept flirting with other women.”

“That’s because you _are_ a woman, MB.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Cupcake.” Some of the strongest people Jim knew were women – especially his mother. It hadn’t been easy for her to raise two boys alone when George was killed. At first, she’d tried to juggle a career in space and motherhood, and Jim had spent most of the first two years of his life living with his grandparents in Iowa. But eventually, she’d accepted a position in San Francisco where she could work from home most days. Defending that decision had sometimes been difficult for her, but when Jim had been accepted to university at 14, and with Sam away at school as well, she’d been able to return to space and her first love – exploration and discovery. Jim had inherited that from her, which was why he’d refused all offers once he’d earned his degrees and joined Starfleet.

“So when am I gonna see you in the gym – I still owe you that hand-to-hand instruction,” Jon said as he was settling into his bed. 

Jim was sitting at his desk, going over some of his analysis of the long range sensor data he’d been working on since coming on board; he knew Doctor Prabhavati assigned it to him initially to keep him busy, but there were interesting anomalies that Jim had noticed that he thought warranted further study.

“You’re still on that?” Jim asked with a frown.

“Yes, still on that. Jim – if you’re a bridge officer, you’ll be called on to go on more Away missions. I’m not going to send you out there with zero to no fighting ability.”

“First off, you sound like my mother. Second, I do too have fighting abilities.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Tomorrow – 15:30 in the gym on Deck 10. Don’t make me come and find you.”

Jim leveled a steady gaze at him. “You know, you’d be a lot more intimidating if you weren’t wearing flannel pajamas with little bulldogs all over them.”

\----

The next day, Jim showed up at the gym at the time Hendorff had indicated, wearing sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. Jon was already there, working out at the far end, punching a huge bag and feinting back and forth around it. Jim paused to watch him momentarily; for a large man, he moved with an innate and fluid grace that Jim knew for a fact he would never be able to achieve.

Jon noticed him in one of the mirrors that lined the walls of the large space and turned to him, lowering his arms. “You came – good.” He hopped up and down on the balls of his feet, all nervous energy and eagerness to get started. “First thing’s first – stretching. Don’t want you to pull anything, though what I really mean is I don’t want that doctor friend of yours to be coming after me if you get hurt.”

They both laughed, then Jim got down to it, stretching like he normally did; when he was done, Jon showed him how to properly tape up his knuckles, taking the time to do it for him on his right hand and talking Jim through it as he did the left himself. 

Jim was fit – to be in Starfleet, he was required to be – but he’d always been more of a runner than anything else. He preferred the kind of clarity of mind he could attain from running long distances - it always helped him work through ideas and problems, and had the added benefit of increasing his stamina. He’d never had to be much for the physical stuff – even under instruction at Starfleet Academy he hadn’t done as well as he’d wanted.

“First thing’s first – I’m going to teach you how to punch properly,” Jon said. He moved back over to the heavy bag and stood beside it. “OK, Kirk, have at it.”

Jim gave him a look. “Aren’t you going to stand behind it or whatever?”

“Do you really think you’re going to move it that much? I don’t.”

“Cute.” Jim stepped up to the thing, planted his feet like he’d been taught at the Academy, hauled off and hit the bag.

“What the hell was that?”

“A punch?”

“You looked like a freaking cartoon, man,” Jon laughed. “What the hell are you doing swinging your arms like that? It wastes energy. Hold your fists close in, by your face.” 

Jim complied. 

“Higher. Now, hit the bag again.”

Again, Jim did as instructed, and he pulled his hand back immediately after it hit the bag, shaking it – the punch had stung, sending shocks all the way up his forearm.

“Don’t use the flat of your hand – use your knuckles.”

Jim hit the bag again.

“Your other knuckles, genius. You _are_ supposed to be a genius – what your mom says _is_ true, right?”

“Shut up,” Jim muttered and hit the bag again. They continued like that for a short while, and Jim was completely amazed at how quickly it tired him out. By the time Jon called a halt to the proceedings, his arms felt like noodles and his muscles were shaking.

“That was good, you’re getting it. Come here – sit down.” He led Jim to a bench along the wall and made him sit, then stood behind him, kneading the muscles in his shoulders and arms. “You won’t always need this, but when you’re new to it, it helps with the soreness later.” Jon continued on in that vein, Jim listening to everything he said.

Until Captain Spock entered the gym. 

He was barefoot, dressed in loose-fitting but still-snug black silken pants and a matching black tank top. He settled himself in a quiet corner at the far end of the gym, facing away from anyone else, and moved his body through a series of moves, quiet and almost languid, stretching his limbs out in some kind of cross between yoga and tai chi that Jim had never seen before. At the end of it, he was balanced on one foot, arms up at right angles to his body, bent at the elbows so that his hands were clasped in front of his face. The tightened muscles in his shoulders, back, and buttocks were the only sign that the position he held cost him any effort at all. His face, what little of it Jim could see reflected at him from this distance, was completely passive and expressionless. He looked like a black-clad marble statue. 

“…same time tomorrow?” Jon was saying. Then he was snapping his fingers in front of Jim’s face. “Hey – Enterprise to Lt. Kirk – keep your tongue in your mouth, boy, it’s conduct unbecoming.”

“What? Oh – flibberty floo!” Jim could feel his face coloring, and he knew he deserved Jon’s ribbing, as he’d been openly staring. He looked up at Jon. “Sorry – what were you saying? Same time tomorrow?”

“Yeah, except now I need to add something else – and that would be a bit of friendly advice from one roommate to another: forget all about it.”

“Forget all about what?”

Jon lowered his voice to a whisper. “Do I have to spell it out for you?” He glanced at Spock and then back at Jim, and began counting off on his fingers as he continued, “He’s your superior officer. He’s a Vulcan. And, he’s taken. My advice is to forget all about him – find yourself someone in your own league, and be happy about it.” 

Jim glanced over at Spock and the only bit of information that Jon offered that stuck in his mind was that the Captain was already taken.

\----

Over the next weeks, Jim threw himself into his work, splitting his time among bridge shifts, his workouts with Jon, and the long-range sensor lab, where he spent the bulk of his time at the analysis of the anomaly that had first caught his attention when he’d first arrived on the Enterprise. He thought he had a hypothesis worked out – well, he had observations that might help him towards a hypothesis – well, _he had data._ One morning he called on Doctor Prabhavati to help him think it through, and presented all that he had observed and concluded to date.

“Tell me again _where exactly_ did you detect this?” 

Jim looked away as he showed Prabhavati the coordinates. 

“Jim –“

“I know, Doctor, I know…”

“What are you doing examining the black hole near where the Kelvin was destroyed?” Prabhavati’s brown eyes were compassionate, but still Jim couldn’t look at them.

“I didn’t start out to, I swear,” Jim said, fingering the edge of his screen nervously. “But once I picked up on this thing, it seemed almost completely isolated in that region of space, almost like it _came_ from inside it or something. Have you ever seen anything like it? A black hole putting out matter?”

Prabhavati made a dismissive sound, but his face didn’t seem like he discounted the idea at all. “Black holes swallow matter, Jim, they don’t expel it.”

“What if this one does? And look how it _seems_ to behave, like it simultaneously repels dark and baryonic matter, yet attracts dark energy?”

Prabhavati sat down beside Jim and began to sift through the data and the graphs that Jim had produced. He shook his head. “None of this is conclusive of anything, Jim.”

“Not from this distance, no. But if this is anything like what I think it is, it’s a whole new kind of – I dunno what, but given the way it reflects light, I suppose _red matter_ is as good a name as any.”

Prabhavati whistled, low, and shook his head almost in disbelief.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim makes more friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t ask me why, but for some reason I picture the actor Iqbal Theba in the role of Doctor Prabhavati…

“Cool your jets, kiddo, let’s not go naming it before we’ve even studied it,” Doctor Prabhavati said.

“But you’re saying you _want_ to study it?” Jim asked hopefully.

“Am I an idiot? Of course I want to study it.” Prabhavati sat back in his chair, chewing a thumbnail thoughtfully. “We’ll need to make adjustments to the deflector array so it can detect the particles. With our current orders, we won’t be anywhere close to that region of space in the near future, but if we come across anything remotely like it, then we’ll be able to collect some, or at least try. I’ll talk to Chief Engineer Olson about it – see who he might assign to help you with this.”

“Me?” 

“Of course you – who else? You may have discovered a new type of matter in the universe, Jim – this is _all yours_.”

\----

The next day, Jim reported to Chief Olson, who led him through the vastness that was the Engineering deck at a near-run. Along the way, Olson checked in with his people and the work they were doing, whirling around in circles to catch bits of conversation so many times it made Jim dizzy to watch; he wondered briefly if the man wouldn’t do better with a pair of roller skates. 

They finally came to a stop at a work area at the far end where a couple of workbenches piled high with pieces of equipment in various states of disarray were arranged. “Here we are,” Olson said breathlessly, and then was on his way, shouting for the closest yeoman to bring him more coffee.

Jim looked around the area he’d been taken – there didn’t appear to be anyone here. “Hello?”

He heard a bump and a clatter at the back of the room as one end a table shuddered with an impact from beneath it. “Ouch!” a muffled voice said, and then it became clearer as its owner arose, both hands on the top of her head. “Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!”

Jim stepped forward. The young woman was Orion, about his age, and, he noticed, an ensign. She was beautiful, with large brown eyes and red curls that failed to be contained within the regulation bun she had on the top of her head. “Are you OK?” Jim asked.

She looked him up and down and promptly seemed to forget her pain. “ _You’re OK_.”

“I’m Jim Kirk.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Are you Ensign Maras? We’re supposed to work together to calibrate the deflectors?”

“Call me Gaila, baby,” she said, gliding forward and extending a hand to be shaken. When he took it, she pushed it upwards, clearly meaning for him to kiss it. Jim obliged her; when he let it go, she put her hands on his shoulders and upper arms, squeezing his muscles gently. “Aren’t you a nice specimen?”

“Uh, thanks?”

She smiled up at him, her cheeks dimpling attractively. “This should be a lot of fun,” she pronounced, then led him to the far corner of “her domain” as she called it, sat him in front of a computer terminal with three large monitors and took a seat beside him. She rolled her chair close to his, leaning across him to access the keyboard. “So tell me all about your great discovery,” she purred as her hands flew over the keyboard, launching a modeling program and starting a new project. 

“Well, it’s not a discovery yet – it’s more like a set of data in search of a hypothesis.”

“Doesn’t that sound like fun? What’s it got to do with my deflector?” 

“It has to do with some very specific particles I’m hoping to collect.”

“Really?” she said, her eyes still on the computer monitors. “These particles have properties?”

“Theoretically.”

She began to set parameters within whatever program she was using, then pushed the keyboard towards him. “Enter them?”

Jim peered at the screen. “None of them are necessarily accurate or even constant,” he pointed out as he began to key some data in.

Gaila shrugged. “Then we’ll refine. But for right now, we need to run a simulation of this anyway – there’s no way I’m letting you turn your little experiment loose on a billion credit piece of equipment, no matter how earnestly you bat those lashes at me.”

“There was no batting.”

“Wasn’t there?”

“Not consciously.”

“Why not, sugar?” She batted her own eyelashes at him and then laughed. “OK, let’s get this show on the road.

They spent the morning building the model for the first simulation, and Gaila suggested they take a break while the computer compiled it. “You can buy me lunch,” she suggested.

“Lunch is pretty much free,” he pointed out.

“You’re adorable,” she pronounced and led him out of Engineering. 

“Here,” Gaila said, shoving her tray into Jim’s hands. He struggled to juggle hers along with his, and followed her through the crowded mess as she made her way between and around tables. “Hiii-eeee!” she greeted a table filled with people most of whom Jim didn't really know.

“Heeeeyyy-aaaayyy!” nearly all of them chanted in response, smiling in greeting to her. Gaila made them all move aside to make room for her and she patted the seat beside her for Jim to take. 

“Who’s the newb, Gay?” a young, sandy-haired Lieutenant asked; he reminded Jim of a football player, his shoulders were so broad, but he wore a gold tunic and not a red, so he wasn’t in security. 

“Isn’t he presh?” she replied. “This is Jim, everybody, and he’s my shadow this week.” 

Jim smiled in greeting as Gaila introduced the others. The man who had spoken was Gary Mitchell, the beta shift navigator; Jim already recognized Yeoman Rand (first name: Janice), though she didn't seem to recognize him; Ensign Paul Figgis was a Transporter Room engineer; Ensign Raul Peres, Figgis’ roommate was also in Engineering, and the last person Jim actually did recognize.

“You’re the Alpha shift communications officer,” Jim said, pointing at the young woman he had encountered his first time on the bridge. Lieutenant…”

“Uhura,” she answered, taking a sip of a blue-colored juice.

“Do you have a first name?”

“Just Uhura,” she answered with a toss of her head and a swish of her ponytail.

Jim blinked, put off slightly by her manner, but recovered well and smiled at them all. “I’m happy to make your acquaintance.”

“You’re in Sciences?” Figgis asked and Jim nodded. “What kind?”

“Astrophysics. My specialty’s dark matter, but –“

“Sounds fancy,” Gary said, pushing his tray aside and resting his chin on his hand. “You must have a really big… _brain_.”

Uhura rolled her eyes.

“It’s standard brain-size,” Jim replied, taking a bite out of his turkey sandwich.

“And I’ll bet it’s filled with all sorts of… _facts and figures_ ,” Mitchell said, drawing the syllables out slowly.

Jim shrugged. “Mostly math.”

“Mostly _math,_ ” Mitchell repeated.

“Do you try to make everything sound suggestive, or is it just a side effect of your personality?” Uhura asked Mitchell.

“It’s a _benefit_ of my personality, and don’t you forget it,” he replied with a grin. He sat back in his chair properly again and regarded Jim with his head cocked to the side. “You’re the quick thinker from the Omicron Alpha mission, aren’t you?” he asked, and everyone at the table now had their full attention on Jim – everyone except Uhura, who indifferently poked at her plate of pasta. 

“Yes.” Jim braced himself for the inevitable barrage of questions – everyone always seemed interested either in how he knew what he knew about the miners’ plight, or what it was like to be on an Away mission with the Captain (most of Jim’s co-workers rarely got out of the lab, so Captain Spock was a bit of a mystery to them). 

“So tell me what it was like – all those desperate, _desperate_ men. Did they _manhandle_ you? Were you _sullied_ by their _grasping hands_?”

“Ew, Mitchell. Ew,” Gaila protested, holding a hand up, and Jim noticed with relief that Uhura and Rand were also giving Mitchell the stinkeye.

Mitchell rolled his eyes. “Fine.” They all ate in relative silence for another few moments. 

“So tell us more about yourself, Jim – where were you born?” Gaila asked.

“I was born in space, actually, but I grew up on Earth.”

“Born in space,” Rand repeated. “Hey wait a minute – you’re _that_ Kirk? The Kelvin Baby?”

Jim sighed. When the Kelvin Disaster had happened, Terran tabloids had had a field day with the Kirk family’s tragedy, dubbing Jim “the Kelvin Baby” and hounding his mother and grandparents for months afterwards. As Jim got older and the memory of the tragedy grew more distant, there was less attention paid, but on occasion stories such as “The Kelvin Baby at 10: How is Little Jimmy Coping without a Dad?” and any number of dubious news items would make the rounds. This as much as anything led to Winona’s decision to home school her two sons.

“That’s me,” Jim said flatly.

There followed the usual chorus of sympathetic noises and half-hearted attempts at getting personal, family information that Jim ought to have been better at brushing off by this point in his life but he never was. 

“Come on, guys, he’s not some animal in a zoo!” Mitchell – surprisingly – was the one to call them off. “Allow the man _some_ privacy, God.”

Everyone apologized – except Uhura, who hadn’t participated, but she still looked at him with sympathy.

“It’s OK,” Jim said.

“No, it’s not,” Mitchell said, catching his eye and holding it before launching into a five minute diatribe about regulations regarding what constituted contraband aboard a starship.

\----

For the next two weeks, Jim worked with Gaila on the deflector dish program whenever he had the time between bridge shifts and stints in the long range sensor lab trying to detect the “red matter”. They spent off hours together discussing the project, and Jim began to eat lunch with her and her friends on the days they were working together. They calibrated and re-calibrated their sims until Gaila was confident they had all of the kinks worked out. The next step would be to try to figure out a means of storing the “red matter” when and if they did manage to collect any. 

“We _will_ work it out, don’t you worry,” Gaila said to him one afternoon, even though he hadn’t exactly expressed any actual worry, “but _after_ shore leave, OK? I could really use a break from this place.”

“Shore leave?” Jim was confused.

“Sure, you know – we pull up to some pleasure planet, the entire ship cuts loose, then we all pile back on board and try to avoid going to sickbay while McCoy’s on duty to be treated for any STIs we might have contracted?” 

Jim stared at her blankly. 

“Don’t tell me the fact we’ve got a long weekend – starting tomorrow – has skipped your attention?” 

He shrugged. “I just don’t notice that kind of thing.”

“Jim! You’re hopeless!” She hooked her arm through his and walked him out of the lab. “ _Your_ shore leave starts now, Mister Kirk.”

“Wh-what?” Jim stammered. “No, I’ve got time reserved in the long-range sensor lab, and –“

“Uh-uh-uh,” she insisted. “All work and no play makes Jimmy a very dull boy. Let Auntie Gay take care of you, all right?”

“I think I’m going to regret this.”

“That’s the whole point.”

\----

They began with Gaila taking him to his room to help him pick out appropriate attire. 

“What’s wrong with this stuff?” he asked, fingering his uniform tunic.

“Please – you want the locals to peg you for an easy mark?”

“No?” he guessed.

“No. Now, tell me you’ve got a decently tight pair of jeans in here,” she muttered, going through his dresser and choosing one of his more battered pairs. 

“My jeans fit me,” he said as she threw the pants at him.

“I’ll be the judge of that. You got any sweaters?” She went though his remaining drawers and came away with a blue cashmere sweater his mother had bought for him that he hadn’t remembered packing – it was too tight across his chest – and a white t-shirt to wear under it. She held the shirt up against him. “This will make your eyes pop – nice. Now go and change.” 

When he emerged from his bathroom, she was sitting on his bed with her back against the wall, her shapely green legs crossed at the ankle. She looked at him appraisingly and cocked her head. “Not bad. Do you have to wear the glasses?”

“Only to see with.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine – I guess I can work with that. Now tell me, Jim, do you like boys or girls?”

“Gaila, come on!” he said, shocked.

“What, it’s a practical consideration – if I’m going to set you up on a date, I need to know your preferences. Auntie Gay doesn’t judge, she merely facilitates. So spill – boys or girls?”

Jim’s heart sped up – he hadn’t been on a date in probably four years, and his last relationship was ancient history; he was always more driven by his studies and research to pay attention to anyone else, or at least that’s what he always told himself. But maybe it was high time he gave dating another try. “Boys,” he finally muttered.

She nodded, once, and stared at him even more appraisingly. “Then we are going to have to do something about that hair.”

\----

Jim sat in the club Gaila had brought him to, nervously twisting the hem of his sweater between his fingers. The place was crowded – there were three other Starships here on leave as well – and the noise level was steadily rising. She had installed him in a relatively quiet corner, brought him a glass of something alarmingly blood-colored called a Cardassian Sunrise and left him on his own. She promised him his date would show up in ten minutes, and that she would be at the bar if he needed her. Jim sipped at his drink – it was kind of sweet, kind of fruity – and tried not to fidget too much.

“How’s it going?”

He looked up to find Gary Mitchell standing at the table, a smile of recognition on his face. Jim was almost relieved to see someone he knew, though he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be talking to anyone before his date arrived. 

“Hey,” Jim greeted. “A friendly face.”

Gary smiled and sat down beside Jim in the booth. “I think I’m supposed to ask if you come here often.”

Jim furrowed his brows. “I’ve never even been to this planet, you know that.”

“Whatcha drinkin’?”

“Cardassian Sunrise, and if this is what sunrise looks like on Cardassia, I never want to go there.”

Gary laughed. “I think it’s supposed to be poetic or something.” He gestured for a server-bot to come over, entered a drink order of his own, and got another for Jim, who had nearly finished his in his nervousness.

“Thanks,” Jim said, munching on the garnishes of his first drink, his eyes scanning the crowd wondering when his date would show up.

“Expecting somebody?” 

“I’m supposed to be on a date,” Jim answered, and sighed ruefully. Whatever was in the drink was lowering his inhibitions; he could feel something loosen up inside him. He sighed a second time. “I’m really nervous, though.”

“You mean, what if they don’t like you?” 

Jim shook his head. “What if they do?”

Gary gave him a measured look “You’re an interesting guy.”

“I’m really, really not.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure your date will be very charmed.” Jim shrugged. “Sure you are,” Gary insisted, and scooted closer to Jim in the booth. “You’re smart, and brave, and you have a really cute _tuchus._ ”

“I don’t know what that is, and besides, I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be making time with me when I have a date coming.” He took a long sip of his second drink – were those pomegranate seeds in there?

Gary smiled meaningfully at him, eyebrows raised. When Jim looked at him blankly, he went on, “I’m your date, Jim, in case you didn’t realize.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.”

“I’m not anything. I think. No, that’s not true – I’m Presbyterian. Whatever that means, but it seems important to my mother.”

“Let me get you another drink.”

“No, thanks,” Jim said, sipping the remainder of the one he had, then changed his mind. “OK.”

“So tell me about your mother?” Gary said, looking around the club for another server-bot. “I’ll bet she’s something.”

“She’s great – she’s my mom. And great. Hey, thanks.” Jim accepted the third drink and began to fiddle with the straw. “This one time, I broke my arm, and I had a regenerating cast on my arm for like two weeks? She bought me a bunch of markers and told me I could draw whatever I wanted on it. But I couldn't decide – for three whole days, I couldn't decide, and it was really bothering me, you know – that inability? But it wasn’t because I couldn’t land on a single thing – no, what bothered me was what that represented, like if I made a choice then and there, all my future choices for what I could do would be denied me. And you know what she did?” 

Gary shook his head. 

“She gave me a copy of Sartre’s _Being and Nothingness_ to read.” 

“How old were you?”

“Five, I think? I’ll tell you, it made a lot of sense to me at the time. But now I’m a lot more rational.” He’d been idly chasing the maraschino cherry around the bottom of his glass with his straw as he spoke, and when he looked up, Gary was staring at him with an odd expression on his face, his head cocked. “What?”

“Has anyone ever told you you were weird?”

Jim leaned back against the padded back of the booth where they sat, resting his cheek on it – despite the warmth in the club, it was cool to the touch, soothing. “All the ding-dang time.”

“It’s pretty sexy.” His voice was low and a little throaty, and had Jim never noticed the shape of his lips before?

Jim supposed he ought to have expected the kiss, at least eventually since this was a date, but he was still very surprised to find Gary’s lips on his. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, no, not at all, with Gary leaning into him with his hands on either side of Jim’s face, but it took him a few seconds before he realized he ought to be kissing back. He raised his right hand and rested it on Gary’s hip, which was warm and solid, and parted his lips enough to allow Gary’s tongue entrance. He spent the next minute focusing on the contradiction of how soft lips could still be so hard and worrying if maybe there was too much saliva in his mouth.

When they parted, Gary looked down at him with a strange kind of smile and then pulled away. “Where’s that server-bot gotten to, I wonder? I’ll just head over to the bar for those drinks, shall I?”

“OK,” Jim said, because he was expected to say something; he watched Gary get up and disappear into the crowd. A few moments later, he was aware of a pressure in his bladder, so he rose to find the restroom. There was a bit of a wait for the bipedal toilets, and when he finally found himself in a stall, he noticed how strangely effective the acoustics were in the place.

“Hey, _Mitchell_ ,” a voice said, “didn't expect to see you here of all places – how’s life on the Enterprise treating you, you asshole?”

“It’s treating me quite well, _Randall_ , you dickhead,” the unmistakable voice of Gary Mitchell replied. “And if I’m lucky, tonight it’ll be treating me even better.”

“You fucking slut – anyone I know?”

“Nah – this one’s pure as the driven snow or something. Famous too – notorious.”

“What? Who? Spill it, you schmuck.”

“I don’t kiss and tell – not when it’s this juicy. I got a buddy works at _The Intergalactic Enquirer_ , who says they’ll pay top dollar for this kind of stuff.”

“You’re a paragon of Starfleet honor,” Randall, whoever he was, said dryly. “Can’t wait to meet this guy.”

Gary’s voice traveled nearer to Jim – he was clearly making his way down the row of stalls to an unoccupied one, when he called, “Don’t worry, you won’t, douchebag.”

The slamming of the bathroom stall door made Jim jump and he realized where he was. Feeling his face redden with embarrassment, he quickly flushed and zipped himself up so that he could get out of there before Gary saw him. He washed his hands but didn't bother to dry them, then hurried out of the club and out into the night.

\----

Jim walked the streets of the small resort city to clear his head. He supposed he could just go back to the ship, but he didn't really want to see anyone he knew, not when he was feeling like this. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more – the fact that Mitchell was just going to use him, or the fact that he hadn’t seen it coming. Thoughts of headlines like, “My Torrid Affair with the Kelvin Baby!” or “Kelvin Baby: Daddy Issues?” swirled through his mind, making his face burn even hotter as he walked.

Eventually, he found himself in front an opera house. He noticed people milling about outside and glanced at his chrono – it was 20:00 local time, so if there was a performance tonight, it would be starting soon. Looking up, he read the signs and saw that a performance was, indeed, just about to begin: the traveling company of the Royal Andorian Opera was here for a limited engagement. 

Jim loved Andorian opera – something about it spoke to his soul – and the opportunity to see _Tal’ayla and Mornoch_ , his favorite, seemed like the perfect opportunity to forget about his humiliating date with Gary. He walked up to the ticket booth and pulled out his credit chip.

“I’m sorry, sir, but tonight’s performance is sold out.”

“Oh? Not even standing room?” Jim asked, more disappointed now to be missing the opera than in his failed date.

“Sorry,” the young woman said regretfully, and Jim moved away from the building. Still, he had no other place to go, so he took a seat on a nearby bench and wistfully watched people come and go, all dressed up for their evening. He hummed a favorite aria and wondered if he’d be able to hear at least some of the performance from out here. 

“Lieutenant Kirk, are you attending the opera as well?” a familiar voice said, interrupting his musings.

“C-Captain Spock! Sir!” Jim stood up rapidly, feeling very self-conscious standing at attention while out of uniform – he _knew_ he should have worn it!

“At ease, Mister Kirk, neither of us is on duty,” Spock said.

Jim’s body became marginally less tense, but there simply was no “ease” when it came to him being around Spock.

“Were you attending the performance this evening?” Spock repeated.

“What? Oh, no, sir – it’s sold out. Guess I got here too late.”

Spock slipped a hand inside an inner fold of the Vulcan robes he wore as if checking on something. “Or perhaps not,” he said, removing his hand to reveal he held two tickets. “I have two tickets for the event, and my guest is suddenly unable to attend, owing to an unplanned work commitment. Would you like to accompany me?”

A rush of heat suffused Jim’s body – he wasnt quite sure if it was excitement to see his favorite opera, terror that he would be accompanying Captain Spock, or the after-effects of the two Cardassian Sunrises he’d drunk. “Golly, that would be great, sir!”

Spock nodded, his lips pressed in a line, but Jim thought it looked like their corners had turned up – did Vulcans smile? Could they? He’d have to look into it.

“Shall we go inside?” Spock asked, gesturing for Jim to precede him into the opera house.

“Gosh, I’m kind of underdressed for this, huh?” Jim asked self-consciously as they made their way towards their box seats. 

“Nonsense – how one dresses has no bearing on an appreciation for music or art. You could arrive naked and you’d have no less right to be here.”

Jim’s cheeks turned beet red. “Well, I dunno about that, sir.” He wasn’t sure, but he thought he detected another Vulcan not-smile on Spock’s face.

“Did you want any refreshments prior to the performance?” Spock said, gesturing at a nearby bar. 

“I’ve had enough refreshment for one night, thanks.”

“Did you have other plans, Mister Kirk?”

Jim shook his head slowly. “More like someone had plans for me. I think I’m better off in my lab for the next shore leave, sir.”

“You should not say such things. Humans require recreation in order to maintain a healthy psychology – such things have been scientifically proven.”

“How about Vulcans?”

“While it is true that Vulcans do not require diversions, it does not follow that the pursuit of them, in moderation, is illogical. An appreciation of art, while not vital for survival, allows one to step outside one’s own narrow view toward a greater appreciation of the diversity in the universe. Was it not Plato who said, ‘The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance’?”

“I’m pretty sure it was Aristotle, sir.”

“Indeed? I must have been misinformed.” Spock raised an eyebrow, causing Jim to trip on the steps he was climbing.

“Yes.” He pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Ah, here we are,” Spock said as they arrived at their seats. The box had only two other seats, which were presently occupied by an elderly Andorian couple. Spock nodded in greeting and they took their seats. Jim gazed around at the opera house – he always found the architecture and decoration of these kinds of places to be fascinating. Their seats were the best in the house, with a clear view of the stage and the orchestra. The musicians were warming up, the sounds of their practice notes filling the hall with warm sounds. Jim shivered in anticipation.

“Are you chilled, Mister Kirk?”

“Oh no, just excited. I haven’t been to a live opera in years.” 

“Nor have I – the last opera I saw was in Shi’kahr when I last returned home to Vulcan. The opera house there is hewn from the living rock of a mountain – the acoustics are perfect.”

“What opera did you see?”

“The Mikado.”

Jim frowned, trying to picture a Vulcan playing Nanki-Poo. 

“It was a traveling Terran company,” Spock qualified.

“Ah.”

“You were picturing Vulcans in feudal Japanese costume, were you not?”

“Uhh…”

“The thought is amusing – I encourage you to indulge yourself.”

Jim couldn’t help but laugh aloud. “You’re really funny, you know that, sir?”

“Do not inform my father.” 

The house lights began to flicker, and within minutes the orchestra was playing the overture. Almost before he knew it, the first act was done, and Jim found himself leaning forward in his seat, his hand on the railing in front of him. 

“You are enjoying it,” Spock said – a statement and not a question.

Jim relaxed his posture and turned to face Spock. “It’s hard not to. The soprano singing Tal’ayla has such presence in the role – it’s clear she understands the language well.”

“You can tell this?”

“Sure – there’s a nuance to the Andorian language that’s hard for non-speakers to fake. You can tell in the glottal stops. She’s very good for a human.”

“That is an astute observation,” Spock agreed. “Do you speak Andorian?”

“Only conversationally – I can’t read it or anything. I, um – I had an Andorian nanny when I was little.”

They chatted in the same vein until Act 2 began.

At the end of the opera, when the final note was sung, Jim surged to his feet shouting the Andorian equivalent of “Brava” at the lead actress, whose performance had been as near to perfection as Jim had ever seen or heard. He stayed on his feet through all of the ovations, and when he turned back to look at his Captain, the man was gazing up at Jim with an expression of curiosity on his face. 

“Is something wrong?” Jim asked, suddenly self-conscious. “Is something on my face?” He reached up and realized that, yes, something was – he’d unknowingly shed a few tears during the final scene when Tal’ayla learned that her lover Mornoch had been killed as a result of her foolishness. “Oh.”

“The performance moved you?” Spock asked, standing. They turned and began to make their way out of the box.

“This one always does – even though I know what will happen, I am always affected. Guess it’s different for Vulcans though, right?”

“Emotion? We feel them as any other sentient species does, we just choose not to allow them to govern our actions. The beauty of the performance did not fail to move me.”

“You felt it – that’s good,” Jim said, and immediately covered his mouth with his hand. “I’m sorry – that was probably pretty rude.”

“It is the truth,” Spock replied. “I did feel it. The judgment of whether that is ‘good’ or not is purely subjective.” 

His tone was kind, but Jim still felt stupid for saying it; the Captain didn't need to hear his opinions on Vulcans, that was for sure.

It took several minutes, but at last they were back out on the street. “Thank you for inviting me, Captain – that was the best time I could have possibly had.”

“You are welcome, Mister Kirk. I am gratified that my extra ticket was put to good use. Now, I have another engagement – I am meeting with the person whose ticket you used for a late drink. Good evening to you.”

“Good night, sir. And thanks again,” Jim said, and watched him walk away, but only for a few seconds – he didn't want to be accused of staring at the man.

He turned to go and nearly knocked over the elderly couple he and Spock had shared the box with in the opera; they’d smiled and nodded to each other throughout the performance, though they hadn’t really spoken. “Excuse me, little mother, I didn't see you both there,” he said in Andorian, laying a hand on the woman’s upper arm to steady her

“Don’t you worry, young one, don’t you worry.” She smiled up at him kindly. “You enjoyed the opera tonight?”

“Very much! It’s my all-time favorite.”

“It was well-done,” the woman agreed. “But why is your lover hurrying off so quickly – are you having a row?”

Jim could feel his face heat up – Andorians were nothing if not direct. “No, madam, we are not lovers, merely acquaintances.”

“Are you certain? He was looking at you with such fondness, even for a Vulcan.”

“Quite certain,” Jim said, looking down the road Spock had walked down, on his way to meet up with whoever his real date was.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaila helps Jim feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Many thanks to ivorysilk for helping with the idea for the mission for this chapter.
> 
> In my brain, I have cast the actress [Lyndie Greenwood](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm3442405/?ref_=nv_sr_1) as Commander Williams because she is capable of kicking much ass.

Jim beamed back to the ship for a quiet night in his room. He’d planned to share a hotel room with Jon, who was only too happy to have the entire room to himself for a liaison with the mysterious Yvonne. He fell asleep immediately, and when he woke, he didn’t see much sense in spending his remaining 12 hours’ leave planetside. After a late breakfast, he made his way down to the long range sensor lab to see if he could detect any red matter in nearby space; it was proving maddeningly elusive this far from the original area he’d first discovered it. When he got to the lab, he was surprised to see it already occupied.

“Oh, hey,” he greeted Lieutenant Uhura with a friendly smile.

She gave him a long look and didn’t respond.

“I didn’t think anyone would be in here this morning, what with the shore leave and everything.”

“Some of us have work to do too, you know,” she said, her tone resentful.

Jim was confused. “Excuse me?”

She swiveled her chair around to face him, her eyes flashing. “You think the long range sensor lab’s only for _your_ use or something?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Well, this time, I got here first, and I even reserved it, so take your glasses and your earnestness and be off with you.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hands. “Shoo!”

Bewildered by her behavior, Jim left. He headed to Engineering, to run the deflector simulation once more to ensure it would be a success. He thought it’d be best now since he wanted to avoid Gaila and he knew there was no way she’d give up one second of her vacation to come here. 

He got antsy around lunch time, so he got a sandwich to go from the mess hall and parked himself on the observation deck, which was completely deserted. He tucked himself into the corner of the observation portal, as close as he could get. When he looked up and out into the cosmos, the curvature of the transparent aluminum made it seem like he was looking up into the sky from his grandparent’s back deck in Riverside. 

His comm beeped – Bones this time, wondering where he’d got to and telling him about the beautiful sandy beach he was missing out on. Jim didn’t message him back, not right away – because he thought he had just about all the beauty he could stand laid out above him here in space. It made him feel better – like it always did when he was a child – and from out here, the stars felt that much closer, his communion with them that much more intimate.

Thirty minutes later, he packed up his wrappings and stood to go. As he reached the turbolift and it opened, he was surprised to find Gary getting off of it.

“Hey,” Mitchell said, lips curling into that crooked smile of his. “Just the person I was hoping to run into. What happened to you last night?”

Jim felt a flare of anger and betrayal in his chest, but he forced it down; unfortunately, his face betrayed some emotion, his cheeks uncontrollably flushing with it. 

“Don’t look so pissed off, Jim – I’m the one who got stood up last night, remember?”

Jim didn’t know if he wanted to have this conversation now, so he tried to walk around Gary, who blocked him from the lift.

“I’m prepared to forgive you, though, if you just meet me for –“

“I heard what you said,” Jim blurted, feeling at once trapped by the situation and yet no longer able to  
control his anger. 

“What? When?”

“In the men’s room at the club. I heard you.”

Gary’s face went pale. “Jim, I –“

“Look, I may not be the coolest guy, and I might be a little naïve, and even if all you saw me as was another notch in your bedpost, then fine, I think I could have dealt with that, Gary. But you meant to betray me in the worst possible way.” Jim paused to take a breath, and then another, leaving Gary with an opening.

“Jim, you can’t believe –“

Jim stepped in closer to him – Gary was an inch or two taller, but after all the workouts Hendorff had been forcing him through the last couple of months, Jim was a lot bigger; Gary took a step back. “ _I. Heard. You._ How much were they going to pay you, huh? What headline did you have worked out? ‘My Affair with the Kelvin Baby’? Never talk to me again.” 

Jim turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Gary struck dumb in his wake.

\----

“You’re here already?” Hendorff asked Jim, surprised to see him already in the gym. 

“You’d be surprised how motivated to fight I am today,” Jim said, pausing long enough in his pummeling of the heavy bag to fix his roommate with a rueful glare.

Jon actually looked surprised. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Jim stopped his punching and stood there, panting, a sheen of sweat making his tank top stick to his body. 

“Guess it’s a good day to work on your takedowns, then.”

At the end of their workout, Jim was sore and tired, but at least he’d been able to work out some of his anger over what Gary had done. By the time he hit the showers, he was able to reflect on more pleasant things, like the superior performances in the opera and he’d seen, as well as the man with whom he’d enjoyed them. Sure, Captain Spock had spent the remainder of his evening with whomever had been his date originally, but Jim was rational enough to realize that last night had been nothing more than two colleagues enjoying a cultural event together. That it had the added bonus of spending a few minutes between acts getting to know more about his enigmatic Vulcan Captain was a fortunate side effect.

Jim quickly dressed and went with Jon to dinner, taking a table with Hikaru and Pavel and listening to the stories of what they’d done on their leave. He returned to his quarters shortly afterwards and was about to sit down to watch a holo when his door chimed. He opened it to find Gaila standing in the hallway. 

“Jimmy, where’d you go last night?” she asked, standing there with her hand on her hip and a scolding look on her face. “All Gary said was you’d disappeared.”

“He tell you why?” Jim asked coldly.

“No, and I have to say I’m a little disappointed – I didn’t peg you for the kinda guy to stand someone up.”

“Maybe I am,” he said shortly.

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Why are you throwing me attitude?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Were _you_ in on it? I thought we were friends.”

“In on what? Of course we’re friends. What are you talking about?”

“Gary’s plan to sleep with me and sell the story to the tabloids?”

“ _What?_ “ 

“I overheard him talking about it in the men’s room.” 

Gaila’s face went several shades of green paler as he told her as many of the sordid details as he cared to share. Her expression went from shock to sadness to outrage in the course of about a minute. “I will kill him with my bare hands,” she muttered. 

“I’m not sure I’m worth a murderous rampage.”

She walked into the room and gave him a tight hug. “Well, I think you are.” She looked up at him with sadness in her eyes. “You know, I ran into him this morning at the hotel, and he had the _gall_ to complain about you standing him up. And I actually sympathized with that rat – Jimmy, I’m so, so sorry.”

He hugged her back. “I’m just glad you weren’t in on it – I think that’s what upset me the most.” 

He turned around and went to sit on his bed. She followed, sitting beside him. “You know when you grow up with the kind of ‘fame’ I had,” he said, making air quotes, “it’s like everyone you meet feels like they have a claim on you. I’m this symbol of this great tragedy that they feel they lived through, and I’m expected to be a certain way, or let them touch me or hug me or cry over me and my poor dead father. None of them sees me as a person, the tabloids least of all. I’m just a story to them, a way to make a quick buck. Call me stupid, but I thought I’d at least be able to get away from all that horse hockey in Starfleet.” He sighed and sagged sideways against her.

Gaila made sympathetic noises and shimmied back on the bed until her back was against the wall, then she made him lie down with his head resting on her lap. He could feel her fingernails lightly scratching against his scalp as she ran her fingers through his short hair. “You’re not stupid, Jimmy, just trusting and good-hearted, and you think that everyone else is the same way.” She pet him for a few moments before continuing, “I _am_ sorry I set you up with that ass. I thought I was doing a good thing. I mean, Gary’s not long term relationship material, but he’s always been good for a laugh.” When Jim snorted, she amended her statement, “Usually, anyway. I thought he would be good for you, honey, I thought he would help you get over that little crush you have on the Captain.”

Jim stiffened. “What?” he asked, his voice way too high in his own ears. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, and trust me, you’re not the first to have it bad for that fine slice of Vulcan pie, and you won’t be the last. But it’s ultimately a waste of your time.”

“I know, I know,” Jim said. _He’s already in a relationship,_ he thought. “I haven’t had it this bad in a long time.” _Or possibly ever._ A brief crush on Captain Pike his first year at the Academy had proven to be disastrous, with Jim practically stalking the guy just to get a glimpse of him. He groaned at the memory and covered his eyes with one hand.

“You should let me help you get over it – let me try to set you up with someone else.”

“If you don’t mind, Gay, I think I’ll take a ‘bye on any future setups, at least for the foreseeable future.”

“Fine,” she said sympathetically, pulling his hand away from his face; he looked up at her and tried to smile. “But you still have to let me help you feel better in some way. What do you say to some really cheesy movies and about a gallon of chocolate ice cream?”

“I’d say that’s about as good a prescription as any at the moment, but perhaps I should consult my doctor.”

\----

The following week settled into the usual routine, which became something of a comfort to Jim. When he didn’t have three shifts on the bridge, he and Gaila spent whatever time they could spare on solving the containment issue for the red matter. They solved the issue within the week, and the only thing left for them to do now was to make the necessary changes to the actual deflector dish, which would have to be scheduled with Chief Engineer Olson.

One daya lunch, as Jim and Gaila were entering the officer’s mess, Jim spotted Gary coming towards them and he tensed. He had been able to successfully avoid the man for days, but Jim knew he couldn’t avoid himforever. Jim steeled himself for the inevitable confrontation.

“Hi, Jim,” Gary said, his eyes anywhere but on Jim or Gaila. His face was suddenly very pale.

“Mitchell,” Gaila said through clenched teeth.

“Jim, I… wanted to, uh, apol-apol-“ Gaila poked him in the arm and he jumped, “APOLOGIZE! For hurting you. I am a, um, a, uhhh…”

“Selfish prick unworthy of cleaning your jock…” Gaila prompted him sweetly.

“I’m a selfish prick unworthy of cleaning your jock, and if I ever cause you even the slightest hint of discomfort, you have leave to punch me in my rotten face.”

Jim noticed he was sweating profusely, not quite sure how to respond. “I, um – apology accepted?” He glanced at Gaila who nodded and smiled approvingly.

Gary looked somewhat relieved, but no less like he’d swallowed a Rigellian spike beetle. “OK. Sorry. ‘Bye. Sorry.” Then he ran off.

“What the heck was that all about?” Jim mused aloud.

“Oh that? He’s feeling extremely remorseful over what happened is all.”

Jim gave her a look

Gaila shrugged. “And OK, so I may have threatened to give him an Orion necktie.”

“What’s an Orion necktie?”

“It’s where you slit a guy’s throat, then cut off his dick and shove it through the slit. You hungry? I’m starving – ooo! Mac and cheese!” she said, noticing the dish on someone’s tray and heading off for the food line.

They sat at their usual table, where Uhura, Sulu, and Chekov were already seated. They chatted as they ate, but Sulu and Chekov soon had to head off for a training seminar, and Gaila had a staff meeting to attend in Engineering, leaving Jim and Uhura alone at the table.

Jim found he had a sudden understanding of the phrase, “deafening silence.” 

“So, ummm…” he began.

“Do we need to talk? We don’t need to talk.”

Jim spooned at his unfinished dish of chocolate pudding. “You don’t seem to like me very much,” he said at length.

Uhura shrugged. “I don’t like anyone very much.”

“Now that’s not true – you like Gaila.”

“She’s my best friend.”

“You like Hikaru and Pav.”

“I work with them.”

“You like Jan.”

“Look, do you have a point here, Kirk?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what I did to insult you is all.”

She rolled her eyes. “Long range sensor lab – you know, there’s only so much bandwidth they’ll allow for side projects, and every time I try to reserve a slot of time, it seems you’re in there. It’s getting to be damned annoying.”

“I’m sorry – I was using it for this research thing I’m doing to –“

“I don’t really care what it is. Just – maybe you should try to give someone else a shot? It’s bad enough I had to cancel plans during shore leave so I could get some work done, I mean – you know?” Her voice reflected her frustration. 

“I’m very sorry,” he said truthfully. “I didn’t mean to hog it or anything – I just didn’t know that anyone else needed access. Can we work on setting a schedule or something?”

“Sure. That would work.”

“I really am sorry, Uhura – I don’t want to cause anyone any difficulties.”

“Thank you.”

He spooned at his pudding. “So what are you working on?”

She looked him up and down as if trying to determine if he could keep a secret, then leaned over the table and explained in a low voice, “If I use the long range sensors, I can boost the yield of the communications array and try to pick up transmissions in Klingon space.” 

Jim did some calculations in his head of just what kind of programming that kind of effort would take and was very impressed. “What? Really? Have you picked anything up that’s useful?”

She glanced around. “I think I have. Very recently, I’ve been picking up chatter about ‘chon  
meH romulu S’ngan’. Over and over, in all kinds of transmissions.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means the hunt for The Romulan, like capital ‘t’ capital ‘r.’”

“Like it’s a specific person.”

“Exactly.”

“You think maybe it’s a Romulan spy or something?”

“Or something,” she said, raising her eyebrows for emphasis, “and I’m the one who’s going to figure it out.”

“Well, if there’s anything I can do to help –“

“Just keep your butt out of the lab when it’s my turn, and we’ll have no problems,” she said.

“This I can do.” He beamed at her, and she didn’t scowl back, which he counted as progress. Next time, he might even ask her what her first name was.

\----

Later that evening, Jim entered the gym for his usual hand-to-hand combat session with Hendorff to find that the Captain was already there, and was just beginning his workout routine. Jim was very proud that he could nod in greeting to the Captain without blushing now; the Captain returned the greeting then turned away to begin his usual Vulcan workout.

As Jim was beginning his stretching exercises, a voice could be heard over the shipwide comm system: _Captain to the bridge_. Jim recognized Uhura’s voice.

Spock straightened his back and paused briefly before walking to the unit on the wall and responding, “This is Captain Spock; I will be there in approximately five minutes.” He turned back to face Jim, pausing a moment before he spoke again. “Mister Kirk, do you have any pressing duties?”

“Not until tomorrow, sir.”

“You’re with me.”

Jim swallowed audibly as he followed the Captain into the locker room.

\----

“Commander Williams, report,” Spock said as he strode onto the bridge with Jim in his wake. Jim lost momentum at the railing and stood there, unsure what to do.

Williams was already rising from the captain’s chair. “We’ve received a distress call from a ship orbiting a planet in the nearby Tyrian system,” she reported as she took her seat at tactical. “They are not affiliated with the Federation, though there’s been trade negotiations in the past.”

Spock sat down. “On screen.” Jim watched as Uhura put the communication through.

“Lieutenant?” came a voice beside Jim; Yeoman Rand called him over to an empty station, already configured for sciences. Jim took a seat and went to work as the transmission took up the entire screen.

“I am Captain Spock of the Starship Enterprise,” Spock said to the alien that appeared on screen. 

The Tyrian was humanoid, with a high forehead, large, brown eyes angled up, and a broad, flat nose beside which long, fleshy whisker-like things extended, not unlike a Terran walrus. His skin was particolored, its deep olive tone broken up by patches of pale pink and green. “I am Commander Visis of the Tyrian ship _baaks-Tr’rn_ ,” he said in heavily accented Standard. “Please, you must assist us.”

“What is the nature of your difficulties, Commander?”

“We do not know – our chief engineer has died and frankly, the replacement has neither the knowledge nor the skill to repair our systems.”

Something flashed on Jim’s screen and he looked at it closely. “Captain, the ship’s orbit around the planet it is rapidly decaying,” he reported. “At this rate, I estimate it will enter the planet’s atmosphere in less than 40 hours.”

“Thank you Lieutenant Kirk. Lieutenant Mitchell, how far are we from the Tyrian system?”

“At maximum warp, five hours, sir,” Gary replied; Jim had not noticed him there on duty, but of course he would be, since it was beta shift.

“Plot a course. Lieutenant Reynolds, engage at your earliest convenience.”

“Aye, Captain,” Marina Reynolds, the beta shift helmswoman replied, her hands flying over the controls as she laid in the course mapped out by Mitchell.

Spock flipped a switch on his chair, opening a channel to Engineering. “Chief Olson, your services will be required when we reach our destination; we have a ship of unknown engineering capabilities in need of technical assistance.”

“So I’ve heard, Captain,” came Olson’s jaunty reply. “Do we have schematics yet?”

Spock looked to Williams, who shook her head. “We won’t be close enough for a proper scan for another two hours, sir,” she reported. 

“Will that be enough to prepare for an Away mission, Chief?”

“I suppose it had better be.”

“Just the answer I require, Spock out.” He addressed the Tyrian on their view screen again, “We will come to your aid with all speed, Commander. Please contact us if your situation changes. In the meantime, if there are any technical specifications for your engines you can share, please send them to us with all haste – whatever assistance we may offer will be facilitated if we have accurate information, and our own scanners will not be in range for some time.”

“We will prepare the transmission immediately, Captain Spock. Thank the merciful heavens that you happened to be nearby.”

“You can thank them once we have repaired your engines. Spock out.” He stood. “I will be in my Ready Room – Commander Williams, informa me as soon as the _baaks-Tr’rn_ 's schematics have been transmitted. You have the conn.”

Spock strode towards his office, which was in Jim’s direction. He stood. “Uh, Captain, sir?”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“What do you need me to do, sir?”

Spock paused, seeming to give it careful thought. “You will make yourself useful, Mr. Kirk, I have no doubt.” 

An hour later, after the transmission of the schematics for the _baaks-Tr’rn_ were finally downloaded, Uhura immediately transmitted them to engineering, tactical, and the science stations.

“Whoa,” Jim said in a low voice at the same time that Commander Williams, who was monitoring tactical from the command chair gave a low whistle. They looked at each other.

“Are you seeing this? The thing is freaking huge,” Williams said. In addition to their engineering schematics, the Tyrians had sent a blue print of their entire ship.

Indeed, it was – larger than any Federation vessel Jim had ever heard of, and even some space stations. What’s more, its layout was broad and almost meandering, with outlying sections that made no logical sense, functionally. It was as if they had been tacked on as an afterthought.

“It barely looks space-faring, let alone warp capable,” Jim observed. 

“I don’t know that it is,” Williams replied. “As soon as we’re close enough, I want you to scan it thoroughly.”

“Aye, Commander,” Jim said, and went back to trying to make some sense of the ship in the meantime. 

\----

“Hey, psst!”

Uhura turned in her chair and gave Jim the stinkeye. “Did you just ‘psst’ at me?”

“Yes – have you seen the Tyrian language included with their ship’s specs?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s my job, of course I have. Have you?”

“Kinda can’t help it – none of the labels are in Standard. Have you made heads or tails out of any of it?”

She looked momentarily doubtful. “Not a lot. Yet.”

He rose and wandered over to her station, where, over the last four hours’ traveling time, she’d extracted all of the text from the specs – not that there was all that much – and was attempting to analyze it. “Look at this symbol here – it recurs a lot.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“It reminds me of the Deltan character for ‘love’ a little.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you speak Deltan?”

He colored. “I’m saying I had a crush on a Deltan when I was 15 and learned how to write it.”

“How adorable,” she said with only a little sarcasm.

“Shut up,” he replied, his lips curling up at the corners. “My point is that maybe the language is ideographic?”

Understanding dawned in her eyes. “Oh my god, oh my god,” she said excitedly as her hands flew over her console and she tweaked her translation protocols. Slowly, approximate translations began to appear on the screen.

“Commander, we’ll be coming out of warp in three minutes,” the helmswoman announced.

“Very good,” Williams said, and opened a channel to Engineering. “Bridge to Engineering – how are you coming with your gear, Chief? We come out of warp in less than three minutes.”

“He is doing quite well,” answered a familiar voice.

“Captain?” Williams replied, surprised; clearly he’d gone while the attention of the bridge crew had been on their duties. “May I ask why you’re in Engineering?”

“You may. I have decided to accompany Chief Olson over to the Tyrian vessel when we arrive. I believe my broad understanding of propulsion technologies will prove useful.”

“How… helpful of you, sir.” Jim could tell she was not pleased about this; it was unusual for a ship’s Captain to go on Away missions, though not unheard of. He and Uhura exchanged interested glances.

“Signal us when we are within transporter distance, Commander. We have amassed our gear in the industrial transporter room off of the main cargo bay.”

“Yes, sir.”

Something beeped on Uhura’s screen and she addressed it, sending a transmission to the Tyrian vessel of their ETA. She then returned her console to the translation program, which was still compiling.

“Coming out of warp in three… two… one,” Lieutenant Reynolds announced, and Jim swayed slightly as the ship’s engines switched from warp to impulse power. “We will be in line with the Tyrian vessel in five minutes.”

Jim returned to his station – now that they were close, he wanted to scan the alien ship.

“Whew,” Gary said as the ship took up most of their view screen. “It’s enormous.”

“Let’s hope we can fix their engines,” Williams said. The prospect of such a massive ship crashing onto the planet below was almost unthinkable.

Jim turned back to his console and the analysis his scan spat back at him. “Commander, I’m scanning for life signs – there are more than 100,000 beings on board that ship.”

“Well, it sure is big enough, but I wonder why?”

“The Tyrians report they’re ready to receive the Away Team,” Uhura reported.

“Bridge to Captain Spock – the Tyrians are ready for you now,” Williams communicated.

“Understood. The Away Team will be prepared to beam over in two minutes,” Spock replied.

Jim returned his attention to the layout of the Tyrian ship – it seemed to have large areas devoted to its population, arranged around central hubs. There didn't appear to be much other functionality to the ship other than to provide living quarters, at least from what he could glean, and all along those decks the symbol that looked like the Deltan word for “love” was in use, labeling rooms and anterooms. 

_I’ve got something_ Uhura commed over to his terminal.

_What?_

_Not sure if the context is right, but the word is coming back translated as “care”?_

Jim turned around in his chair to face her, brows furrowed; she looked at him with a similar expression.

As she said the words, something clicked in Jim’s brain. “No, no, no, no, no.” His fingers flew over his console as he made a few quick searches on the ship’s databanks. The results took hundredths of a second to come back, but the list was too long. 

“Spock to Bridge, we are beaming to the Tyrian ship on my mark. Energize.”

Jim frantically scrolled through until he found what he was looking for. His screen lit up with facts and figures, but it wasn’t quite right – there, at the bottom, there it was. He opened up the next screen to see a schematic for another ship, its layout unmistakable. 

“Commander Williams!” Jim practically shouted; he spun around and got to his feet, rushing to the railing of the upper bridge. “You have to stop them – beam the Away Team back now!”

Williams looked at him like he was insane. “What? Why?”

“The Tyrian vessel, I think it’s a plague ship!”

“What?” 

“Its configuration reminded me of something from my Federation history class – those old stories about Circassian Sorrow Ships from a hundred years ago?” The Circassian Disaster was the stuff of nightmares – whole populations subjected to infectious diseases as a form of genocide, had tried to escape on ill-equipped spaceships; ships were discovered drifting in space that held nothing but dead people – millions had died.

Commander Williams’ dark skin paled. “Show me,” she ordered, and Jim led her back to his station, showing her the configurations of both the Tyrian vessel and the ones from the history texts, pointing out the many similarities. 

“Oh my God,” Uhura said from behind them; she covered her mouth with her hand and looked stricken. 

“Lieutenant?” Williams prompted her. 

“Kirk, I just sent you my translations,” she said, explaining her reason for standing there.

Jim made a few adjustments on his terminal, and the Tyrian language that had been translated changed over into Standard. Many areas of the ship were now plainly labeled “Critical Care Ward” and “Decontamination Unit.”

“We have to get them back,” Uhura said.

“Open a channel, Lieutenant,” Williams ordered and followed her back to her station. Jim followed.

“Commander, what is it?” Spock’s voice came through the comm seconds later.

“Sir, we have reason to believe the _baaks-Tr’rn_ may be a plague ship. We need to beam you out of there immediately.”

“On what do you base this conclusion, Commander?”

Williams stepped back and allowed Jim and Uhura to relay the same facts they’d just laid out to her. 

“A logical conclusion, Lieutenants, but we have already engaged with the Tyrian engineers at our end. We may already be infected.”

“It doesn’t mean you should stay, Captain,” Williams pointed out. “If we can bring you back – get you into isolation – we can then send a new team over in biohazard suits, who will be able to –“

Her words were cut off by a sudden, violent jarring and the sound of a distant explosion as the ship was hit by something. Jim, who’d been leaning over Uhura’s station, went flying as the deck tilted beneath their feet. He came to a halt only because he crashed into the railing of the upper level of the bridge. He pulled himself painfully to his feet, but the next hit sent him tumbling over the side, his glasses flying off his face.

“Jeepers!”

“We’re under attack!” Mitchell yelled.

“Red Alert!” Williams ordered, coming over to help Jim to his feet. “Shields up! Evasive maneuvers!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim makes himself useful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update – I had other commitments to write for. And it got a bit plotty, so please enjoy. Also, of all the dubious science, this one’s got the dubiousest… just go with it?

“Ready phasers!” Commander Williams yelled as she flung herself into the command chair; the ship’s deck reeled as Reynolds ran evasive, and Jim was forced to physically hold onto the railing or risk tumbling across the bridge. He pulled himself to his feet and staggered back to his station.

Gary’s hands were flying over the controls at the tactical station he’d switched over to, and with a flare of blurred light, a 3-D holo simulation of the tactical situation outside the ship came into focus in the space above his station. It showed the Enterprise completely surrounded by what looked like hundreds of smaller ships, so small it looked like a swarm of angry bees had beset them. Beyond them were three larger vessels similar in size and, presumably, fighting ability, to the Enterprise. Jim surmised they were where the smaller fighters must have originated. These were only now visible through the main view screen, and began to position themselves between the Enterprise and the _baaks-Tr’rn_. 

“Commander, are you seeing this?” Gary asked, his eyes on the smaller fighters as they began to strafe the starship with short-range phasers in formations of eight to twelve, then pulled away. Their weapons barely seemed to have an effect, leaving Jim to wonder why they were even being deployed. 

“What the hell are they doing?” Williams mused.

“The battle cruisers are powering up their weapons,” Reynolds reported calmly, even as she maneuvered the ship around to face their attackers.

“Uhura, open a channel!” Williams ordered.

“Channel open.”

“This is Commander Yvonne Williams of the USS Enterprise. We are on a humanitarian mission, to provide technical aid to the Tyrian vessel _baaks-Tr’rn_. What is the meaning of this unprovoked attack?”

“They’re firing,” Reynolds reported. Jim braced himself; the impact of the torpedo rocked the ship.

“Shields holding at 90%.”

A yellow light began to flash on Gary’s console and suddenly the ship was rocked again. Jim could see the flash of an explosion somewhere close to the ship actually reflected back onto the view screen. “One of their fighters just detonated… _INSIDE_ the shields of the port nacelle, Commander!” Gary reported.

Williams barked, “How are they getting inside?”

Jim took a reading on his own console. “They seem to be able to read our shield harmonics, Commander!” he said. _But how? Were their phasers picking up on the frequency and using it against them?_ Jim couldn’t believe the readings he was getting. 

The ship was rocked by another explosion.

“Are they going kamikaze or something?”

“Negative, Commander, there are no life signs on board. They must be drones.” 

Yet another explosion rocked the ship, and then another.

“Motherf–” Williams gritted her teeth. “Fire phasers at will, Mitchell. Keep those little bastards off us.”

“They’re too close, I can’t –“

“Lay down a covering fire pattern,” Williams said, striding over to tactical herself. Her hands flew everywhere, so fast they were practically a blur. Several of the closest fighters in the holo exploded, but still they came, burrowing inside the Enterprise’s defenses like high tech chiggers. The ship rocked again and again from two more explosions. 

“Hull breach imminent on Deck Twelve,” Jim reported.

“GAAAHH!” Williams growled her frustration. Her hands flew over the controls at tactical, her shots extremely accurate, but the fighters kept coming.

“Commander, I have an idea!” Jim called to her.

“Don’t keep it to yourself, Kirk, out with it.” Then she yelled, “You fucking FUCK!” And added, “That wasn’t aimed at you, Lieutenant.”

“Understood,” he said. “I think I can recalibrate the shields to emit a contained EM pulse wherever the drones breach our shields – it’d knock ‘em right out of commission.”

“Are you crazy – what’ll that do to the ship?” Gary asked.

“It won’t penetrate the hull, I promise,” Jim replied.

“Promises mean nothing, Kirk – tell me you’re _sure_ ,” Williams said, glancing over at him.

Jim swallowed. “I’m sure, ma’am.”

“Do it,” she ordered and then went back to trying to fight them off.

It took Jim several minutes to program, and even though Williams’ efforts were keeping the majority of the drones off, two more managed to penetrate the Enterprise’s shields before he was done. “EM Pulse defense operational, Commander,” Jim reported, keeping his eyes on his console, “but it’s going to have to be run manually – there’s no time to automate it.” His hands flew over the controls, and he winced as two drones got past the shields; he was able to neutralize one but not the other. “Oh sugar!” Jim muttered to himself.

“You want help, Kirk?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mitchell – get over there and lend the boy a hand,” Williams ordered, tossing her head in Jim’s direction. She kept her eyes on her tactical screen and shot as many drones out of space as she could manage, but there were still scores of them.

Gary strode over, and Jim barely looked at him, not wanting to break his concentration. He demonstrated how to focus the shield adjustments based on where the drones managed to breach the shields. Gary took the seat beside Jim and configured the console to mirror Jim’s. Within minutes, they were able to successfully neutralize whatever drones Williams missed.

“The cruiser’s locking its weapons on us,” Reynolds reported calmly – Jim couldn’t believe how unflappable the woman was.

“Lock on photon torpedoes and fire at will,” Williams practically spat, casting a determined look at the image of the closest cruiser up on their view screen.

Reynolds pressed a few buttons on her console and then fired once, twice, three times. The enemy’s shields were no match for them; the fourth torpedo was a direct hit, and a fifth would cripple or destroy the vessel. As suddenly as they’d appeared, the drones fell back, returning to their mother ships.

“We’re being hailed,” Uhura reported.

“On screen,” Williams ordered, standing up. Jim chanced a look in her direction; her expression was fierce, the hair that had escaped the French braid she wore formed a halo around her head that caught the light of the red alert lights and made her look like some sort of warrior goddess. Jim now understood what Hendorff saw in her.

Jim supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that the commander of the opposing vessel was a Tyrian. He resembled Commander Visis in that he had the same basic physical features, but he was much more robust, his skin tone was a deep and very healthy-looking olive, and he had a full head of hair; it was clear that whatever disease was infecting the people on the _baaks-Tr’rn_ , Visis had it as well, and it took a devastating toll.

“What is the _meaning_ of this unprovoked attack?” Williams demanded of the man.

“I am Commander Shtahk of the Imperial Tyrian Battle Fleet. You are outworlders and trespassers in our sovereign space. You will leave,” he said in heavily accented Standard.

Williams merely glared at him. “And as I have said before, I am Commander Williams of the USS Enterprise, and we are here on a humanitarian mission. We responded to a distress call from one of your own ships – surely you see it there, orbiting your planet. They were in need of technical assistance.”

“They are the Unclean,” Shtahk replied dismissively. “It is forbidden to interact with them.”

“They are your people –“

“It is _forbidden,_ ” he interrupted her, making a dismissive gesture. “You will leave immediately or we will destroy you.”

“We have personnel and equipment aboard that ship. We will not leave without them.”

“That is unfortunate, but their lives are now forfeit. No one who enters the _baaks-Tr’rn_ leaves it alive. It is the law.”

“Under laws of interplanetary assistance, we were within out rights to answer their distress call,” Williams pointed out.

“We recognize no such laws. You will leave or be destroyed. Shtahk out.”

Commander Williams’ mouth worked for a few seconds as she glared at the view screen, which was filled with the image of the Tyrian battle cruisers cutting the Enterprise off from the _baaks-Tr’rn_. 

“What are we supposed to do now?” Jim asked aloud.

“Lieutenant Reynolds, we will retreat one thousand kilometers on impulse power – get some space between us and those battle cruisers. Everyone else – there will be a status meeting in Conference Room Two in fifteen minutes. Lieutenant Uhura, send all damage reports to me there.” Williams straightened her uniform tunic and strode from the bridge looking murderous.

\----

When Jim entered the Conference Room, it was standing room only; he recognized all the department heads were in attendance – with the exception of Chief Olson who was aboard the _baaks-Tr’rn_ with Spock. He locked eyes with Bones, who looked worried in addition to the usual scowl on his face. Jim guessed it was because he had had to leave the medical bay when there were injured crew in need of treatment. 

Jim stood at the back next to Hikaru and Pavel.

“I heard what you did with the EM pulse and those drones,” Hikaru whispered, bumping Jim with his shoulder. “That’s hardcore, man.”

Jim wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but Pavel was smiling at him, so he figured it was good. Secretly he was relieved his plan had worked. “Thanks.”

Williams called the meeting to order and they were forced to pay attention. It began with a report from Doctor McCoy – there were five major injuries, two dozen minor, and thankfully no loss of life. As for the damage to the ship, the drones had caused significant harm to the outer hull, and areas of the ship that had been compromised had been evacuated. In addition to that, the damage to the port nacelle made warp a dangerous prospect if they were ever in need of it. Engineering already had people seeing to repairs, but they were effectively stranded until the nacelle could be repaired. 

Tactically, shields had held when necessary against the Tyrians’ major weapons, and there was no doubt that the Enterprise was more than a match for all three of them – it was the drones that posed the larger threat.

“But thanks to Kirk, we have a way to combat the drones now,” Gary pointed out, glancing back at Jim and smiling. Jim ignored him. “We can just bust through their blockade and get our people back.”

“And risk an interplanetary incident? We don’t know much about the Tyrians other than they’re war-like and generally xenophobic,” Uhura pointed out. “This could spiral out of control in no time.”

“We will stay where we are for now and repair the ship – that’s first priority. Our second is to try for a diplomatic solution. Lieutenant Uhura and I will continue to try to convince the Tyrians to allow us to get our people back.”

“And in the meantime, that ship’s about to crash-land onto the planet, and Spock and Olson are being exposed to what kind of bloody disease we don’t know,” McCoy said. “We might not have enough time for diplomacy.”

“Well, unless anyone else has an alternative suggestion, this is our plan,” Williams replied, but before she could say anything more, the ensign who had been left manning communications burst into the room. 

“The Captain! I have the Captain!” she said urgently, and rushed to the computer terminal embedded in the conference table. She made a few adjustments and an image of the Captain from the bridge of the _baaks-Tr’rn_ flickered onto the screen at the front of the room.

Williams rose to address him, standing at parade rest with her hands folded behind her back. “Sir, it is good to see your face,” she said.

“Commander, I witnessed the attack of the Tyrian vessels upon the Enterprise. I trust you have the situation in hand?”

Williams filled him in on everything that had transpired as briefly as she could.

“Damage to the ship is unfortunate, but I am gratified there has not been loss of life. I look forward to each department’s report on the incident.”

“That’s all well and good, Captain,” McCoy said as he sat forward at the conference table. “But what about that ship - _is_ it a plague ship? What are we dealing with here?”

“I am afraid that our suspicions were correct – the people we have encountered appear to be afflicted with an unknown disease, for which they say there is no cure. This does not change our present circumstances, however – we must repair the defect in this vessel’s engines or risk it crashing into the planet. As Chief Olson and I are on board, this is our primary goal.”

“All due respect, Captain, but what we need to do is worry about your health,” McCoy said heatedly. “This is your life, sir – we need to figure out how to get you out of there and –“

“What we need to do, Doctor, is repair this ship. Whether the disease is communicable to humans or Vulcans is irrelevant at the present time. Chief Olson is in the midst of running the appropriate diagnostics – he is confident we have the skill and, more importantly, the equipment to make necessary repairs. Once that has occurred, we will be able to address not only the identification of the disease, but the challenge of the Tyrian blockade, and our return to the Enterprise.”

“Oh, is that all?” McCoy said acidly, and Jim could tell he was not pleased.

Spock’s reply was garbled when the image flickered and shook unexpectedly.

“Captain?” Williams said. Whatever Spock was saying, the audio cut out, followed by more violent flickering of the image. “Get him back, Ensign,” Williams ordered the communications officer.

“I’m trying, ma’am,” she said, frustrated, but she didn't seem to be able to. Uhura eased her out of the way and tried it herself, with no success. “Hard to tell from here, Commander, but my guess is the Tyrian cruisers are blocking their signal.”

“Great,” Williams muttered, and took a deep breath; when she addressed the entire room, she had a confidence that Jim found inspiring. “OK, nothing has changed except we’ve got a few new challenges. You,” she pointed at Br-nat, Olson’s Andorian second-in-command. “Get us warp ready as soon as you can – I want a status in one hour. Uhura – see what you can do about getting a channel open to the Captain again.”

“Aye,” Uhura said, looking determined.

“Everyone else, do your jobs. You’re the best damn crew in Starfleet – let’s get our Captain back, all right?” 

Jim found himself nodding enthusiastically.

“You are dismissed.”

\----

“Hey. Here.”

Jim looked up to find Uhura holding out a coffee cup to him. 

“Milk, right?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Gee, thanks,” he said, smiling up at her. He took a big gulp and wiped his mouth. “I really needed that.”

“Well, slow your roll – you don’t want to overdo it,” she said with a wry smile. “What are you working on?”

“I’m trying to see if I can close the gap in our shields, but it’s slow going. If those drones attack again, I want us to be ready. How ‘bout you?”

She scowled at her station as if it had insulted her. “I’ve tried every protocol I know – I can’t break through the Tyrians’ jamming signal.” She stretched her neck and Jim winced when he heard her joints crack – they had been at this for hours and it was now approaching 03:30.

“Maybe try thinking outside the box.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s that even mean? My whole life, I have hated that cliché.”

“OK then – what if you use a different box?” Jim said, a slow smile growing on his lips as a new idea dawned on him. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, they’re jamming all our subspace frequencies – what about other ones? Like radio? Or cellular?”

“We could try that, but how do we know the Captain will even pick it up? And with nothing to relay it?”

“True,” Jim allowed. They were silent a while.

“Unless we piggy-back it on something else,” she said slowly. “What if we use the Tyrians’ own signal to backdoor it? I mean, the cruisers have to be communicating with their command structure in some way, right? Maybe we can highjack some bandwidth?”

“Is that even possible? And do their comms intersect with the plague ship?”

“Won’t know ‘til we try.”

“I don’t think the regular communications array will be able to handle that, do you?”

He shook his head. “Long range sensor lab?”

“Race you!”

\----

Jim pushed back from the terminal he’d been working at for the last three hours and sighed.

“That a good sigh or a bad one?” Uhura asked from her spot opposite him.

“Good one. I’ve mapped at least three different data pathways we can piggyback onto, all of which can reach the _baaks-Tr’rn_. How about you?”

“I’ve just about made all the adjustments I need to try a test run,” she said, using an automatic tool to close the back of the strange amalgamation of circuitry she’d cobbled together that would generate the signal they would use. “We just need to hook it up.”

“Let’s get to it, then.” 

Together, they were got the job done in just over an hour. 

“Man, that’s ugly,” Uhura commented.

“If it gets the job done, no one will think so,” Jim replied. “Should we report our progress to Commander Williams?”

“I’d rather report _success_ to Commander Williams,” Uhura said. “Let’s do a test run?”

Jim agreed, and so they took a few minutes to send their first transmission. 

“This is USS Enterprise to the Tyrian ship _baaks-Tr’rn_ , please come in,” Uhura kept repeating as Jim monitored the equipment. She was speaking for perhaps three minutes when the screen they were using flickered to life, flashing a view of the interior of the other ship for a split second before going black again.

“Jeepers, it’s working!” Jim said, and began to adjust the strength of the signal as Uhura repeated the message. Moments later, the screen flashed again, then a wavering image appeared of a Tyrian peering at them with a curious expression on his face.

“Hollow?” the Tyrian inquired. “I see you no?”

“Hello!” Uhura replied. “I hope you see me. We can see you!”

The Tyrian moved out of frame for a moment and then another appeared briefly, moving closer to whatever transmitter they were using, and then out of frame again. The image wavered, but it wasn’t the signal, it was clearly the equipment at the other end jarring slightly.

“Is he… fixing it or…” Jim said, squinting at the screen. That was exactly it – a moment later, the image became steadier and the first Tyrian reappeared. 

“Hollow?”

“Hello,” Uhura said in a friendly voice.

“Hell-lo,” he repeated and beamed at her. Jim noted that this man looked even more ill than Commander Visis, with hollowed-out cheeks and sunken eyes; the skin rash Visis had exhibited appeared to be even worse for the poor fellow; fully half the dark olive, healthy skin on his face was now a mottled pink, with the suggestion of scar tissue on his neck as well. “I fesh co-man-deer?”

“Yes, please fetch Commander Visis, we would like to speak to him.”

The Tyrian hurried away, and Uhura clasped Jim’s hands, shaking them triumphantly; her grip was unnaturally strong, he thought. 

It took several minutes, but instead of Commander Visis, a familiar face soon appeared. 

“Captain! You are a sight for sore eyes!” Uhura said sincerely, and Spock’s eyebrow rose.

“Lieutenant, if you are experiencing ocular discomfort, might I suggest a trip to the medical bay?”

She waved her hand and smiled at him in a way that said she knew he was joking, though Jim wasn’t sure how she could tell.

“Your communication has come through on the ship’s internal system, which is supposed to be secured and closed. Have you hacked it?”

“Not so much hacked as exploited a port reserved for supply requisitions, sir,” Jim answered.

“Does that not qualify? At any rate, it was very cleverly done, Mister Kirk,” he said, and Jim’s face turned beet red. 

“Thank you, sir.”

Spock turned his attention to Uhura. “Lieutenant, I would speak with Commander Williams.”

“Of course,” she said, and moved away to comm her from another station, leaving Jim sitting with his hands between his knees, not looking at the Captain.

Spock coughed suddenly, and Jim looked up at him. “Sir – are you well?”

“Affirmative,” he said before coughing again; Jim studiously looked away, because coughing Vulcans with squinched-up eyes were not at all super appealing or attractive. In the least. “The air here is more dry than I have become accustomed to aboard the Enterprise.”

Jim nodded and they sat in uneasy silence until Commander Williams arrived to deliver a more detailed report on the ship’s status to Spock.

\----

Six hours later, Jim returned to the sensor lab after a rest period ordered by Commander Williams. (“I need you in top shape, Kirk,” she’d said. “Exhausted and fumbling around is not acceptable when we’ve got work to do, and I need you to keep this link open to the Captain, is that understood?”)

When he took his seat, the screen before him was empty. Now that he had a chance to look properly, he saw that the room beyond looked like a medical examination room. He could make out some testing equipment and an exam table within frame of the camera, and he supposed that made sense aboard what amounted to a hospital ship. 

He ran a few diagnostics and was relieved to see that the signal was getting through as well as could be expected; due to its incompatibility with their other comms sytems, they were forced to keep the channel open and maintain it in the sensor lab. Jim next began to work on exploiting another of the Tyrians’ data streams as a backup in case they were discovered. A noise on-screen got his attention a few minutes later. 

Looking over, Jim saw that Captain Spock had entered the room. Not noticing Jim was there – or not caring – he took a moment to bend over at the waist and rest his hands on his knees. He took a series of deep and labored-sounding breaths before standing upright again. Jim noticed his hands were dirty, and he had a smudge on his cheekbone that looked like the lubricant used in the Enterprise’s engines. He moved out of frame and Jim could hear the low hum of a sonic sink as he washed up.

Thinking he ought to let the Captain know of his presence there, Jim typed extra loudly on the terminal at which he was working.

“Who is there? Ah – it is Mister Kirk,” Spock said, coming into view again. 

“Yes, sir. Any luck with the engine repairs, sir?”

“A minor malfunction in the engine that had been allowed to persist too long and affect other systems. The repairs will be completed within the hour. I understand from the ship’s engineer that the acquisition of spare parts for maintenance is difficult. It seems the planetary officials would much rather ignore the problem of their afflicted citizens than deal with it directly.” Spock had a stern expression on his face. “The Tyrians I have encountered are proud and hard-working. This abandonment of them by their own people is illogical.”

“The Tyrian commander of the blockade ships called them ‘The Unclean,’” Jim said. “I think it’s a cultural thing – perhaps they have taboos relating to disease, or just this one? It seems pretty disfiguring.”

“It is. I have seen many who bear the scars of their affliction upon them, though they seem otherwise healthy.” He coughed painfully and went out of frame for a moment, coming back with a tissue he held to his mouth. “This cough is most inconvenient,” he said, sounding perturbed.

“You don’t think that –“ Jim cut himself off, not wanting to voice his concern.

“That I have already contracted the same disease that afflicts the Tyrians? It is the only logical conclusion.”

Jim rose from his seat. “I should get Doctor McCoy – we need to do something!”

“There is little that can be done, Mister Kirk. How the disease is spread, its effects on humans or Vulcans, its progression – all are facts we can scarcely determine until we can work out a way to return Chief Olson and myself to the Enterprise. To do that, the Tyrians must end their blockade of thisl ship. To worry about it is illogical. To complete the task we came here for is not.” He stood. “I must return to the engine room to assist Chief Olson – I only returned here to wash up. Commander Visis has agreed to let us use these rooms for the duration of our stay here.”

“But Captain –“

Spock cocked his head to the side. “Your concern is noted, Lieutenant,” he said quietly before turning and leaving the room.

\----

Spock returned an hour later, and Jim was ready for him.

“Doctor McCoy, what a surprise,” Spock said with a somewhat stern look in Jim’s direction. 

Jim managed to meet the Captain’s gaze, though he could feel pricks of sweat breaking out under his arms.

“Get close to this comm so I can get a look at you,” Bones ordered, and Spock complied with a sigh. McCoy made him open his mouth, get his eyes as close to the camera as he could, and finally take a series of deep breaths. As he did the latter, even Jim could hear a distinct rattling sound. “Captain, you are ill.”

“Yes, thank you, doctor, I had no prior indication,” Spock said dryly, stepping back.

“Don’t sass me, Spock, this is serious. You’ve got visibly swollen glands, discoloration in your throat and I do not like the sound of your breathing. This after less than sixteen hours’ exposure. I don’t like it, I don’t like it at all,” McCoy complained a moment later.

“Your displeasure is noted. What do you propose we do?” Spock asked evenly.

“No need to be snappish,” Bones said, and Jim wondered if they were participating in the same conversation, since Spock sounded perfectly normal to him. 

“ _I’m_ feeling fine, by the way,” Olson commented archly, and Bones’ eyes flicked over to him, appraising.

“You don’t look fine.”

“I have been up for nearly two days straight, and crawling around an alien engine for the last twelve hours – it takes a lot out of a guy.”

“Hmph,” Bones said. “Get up in here anyway.” He put Olson through the same visual exam as Spock. “Your eyes don’t look clear to me, but it could just be exhaustion. You tell me the moment you feel ill, and that’s an order, Chief.” Olson nodded and moved out of frame; Jim heard him making noises somewhere, clearly washing himself up. 

McCoy half turned away from the screen and propped his chin on a hand thoughtfully. “There are any number of diseases that’d work faster on a Vulcan than a human, and vice versa. Doesn’t mean it’s not just as deadly. If I could only _be_ there, take some cultures, I could know what we’re dealing with. But this is just – impossible. You know how many diseases start with flu-like symptoms?”

“All of them?” Jim ventured.

Bones looked at him with a raised brow. “Was I talkin’ to you?”

“Weren’t you?” Bones scowled at him and Jim shrugged. “Anyway, just because you can’t be there, doesn’t mean you can’t try to figure out what it is. They’re on a hospital ship after all.”

Bones’ eyes practically lit up. “Don’t let anyone tell you you don’t show promise, kid,” he said and left the room.

“Nobody ever says that,” Jim called after him. He glanced back at Spock, who was back on the screen, looking at him. “Nobody says that, sir.”

“I should think not.”

Bones returned shortly with a PADD and stylus.

“What is that for?” Spock asked.

“We are going to get a head start on identifying this infection, because maybe it’s something we can deal with. I’m going to teach you how to take and grow a culture.”

“I am no biologist, Doctor.”

“You don’t need to be if you do exactly as I say.”

The process took more than an hour, since Spock and Olson had to be sent off into the main part of the ship to find the equipment and supplies that would be necessary. For a warp-capable civilization, it turned out the Tyrians’ medical progress was strangely lacking, which McCoy commented on.

“I have made note of it,” Spock agreed, settling down in a stool across the room where the equipment they’d amassed had been set; he began to arrange it according to McCoy’s specifications. “Attitudes in regards to disease among the Tyrians we have encountered are quite surprising as well. There is much shame among them for having contracted this disease.”

“And apparently little support from their government,” McCoy muttered. “What kind of people send their sick and dying into space? Have they no compassion?”

“It is not for us to judge,” Spock reminded him.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it. What do the doctors you’ve seen say?”

Spock cocked his head to the side. “I cannot say that I have encountered any.”

“None at all?”

“There appear to be caregivers, but no healers. The ship is vast, however, and our time here spent mainly in the engineering areas.”

Bones shook his head and proceeded to instruct Spock on how to complete taking the cultures in as sterile a field as possible. When the process was completed, with samples from both Spock and Olson collected, Spock stared down at his handiwork and then looked up at the screen.

“What is next?”

“We wait,” Bones answered.

“How long?”

“If you had the ability to generate a propagation field like we do here on the Enterprise, it’d take a matter of minutes, but with that equipment? Could be hours, could be days.”

Spock sighed, and even Jim couldn’t miss the rattle in his breathing. “Then I suppose we had better settle down for a wait, Mr. Olson.”

\----

It was late in the ship’s night, hours later, when Jim returned to the sensor lab after his bridge shift to check on the comm link and make sure it remained open and undetected by the Tyrians. Bones was there as well, sitting at an empty station and reading something on his PADD. 

“Any results yet?” Jim asked.

Bones shook his head, held a finger up to his lips, and turned up the volume on the monitor – the lights in the room at the other end had been dimmed, and he could hear the sound of snores and heavy breathing, though no one was visible. 

“Is that Olson snoring?” Jim asked, amused; he couldn’t picture Vulcans making such noises in their sleep.

“It is,” Bones replied, then muted the screen. “The heavy breather is the Captain, and I don’t like the sounds of it.”

“Any ideas at all what it might be?”

“I’ve narrowed it down to two dozen possibilities,” Bones indicated his PADD, “but without more data, there’s not much good it does us. What’s the ship’s status?”

“We’ll have warp in six hours. Commander Williams has contacted the Admiralty and orders are to maintain our position – there will be no engaging with the Tyrian ships.”

Bones shook his head. “Let me guess, they don’t want to risk a diplomatic incident.”

“Apparently the Tyrians have had past, informal dealings with the Cardassians.”

“Wouldn’t want to risk pissing _them_ off, now would we?” Bones scoffed, and made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

“Now, Bones, it’s not for us to know the particulars of why they’ve given these orders, just that we must follow them.”

“We can have an opinion, though, can’t we, and mine is that this stinks to high heaven! If they’d rather risk one of their best Captains than – ” Bones stopped talking when he saw Jim’s stricken face. “Sorry, Jim, I didn’t mean to say something like that. You know I tend to over-exaggerate when I get up a head of steam.”

“You don’t think the Captain will die, do you?”

“Not if I have anything to do with it.”

Jim took off his glasses to polish them on the hem of his tunic. “But you think Starfleet’d let the Captain die just because they don’t want to risk messing up relations with Cardassia?” When he put his glasses back on, he saw that Bones wouldn’t look at him. ”Golly, they would never do that, Bones. They just wouldn’t.”

“No, no they wouldn’t, kid,” Bones said kindly, but something in his eyes said he didn’t believe his own words. 

\----

_“How’s it coming with the interface between the imaging equipment and the microscope?”_

_“Slow going, but I think I can figure it out. It’s not much different from the fiddly bits in the communications array, and we just refit it when we were at Starbase 4, so I’m very familiar.”_

_“Good, that’s good. How’s he look?”_

_“How does every Vulcan look? Stoic. But his color’s definitely off.”_

Jim woke to hear a murmured conversation between Bones and Olson. He realized he’d fallen asleep on his arms, sprawled over the top of the desk beside the terminal. He sat up and fumbled around for his glasses – he didn’t recall taking them off. Bones handed them to him without a word, continuing his conversation without interruption.

“And how are you feeling?”

“Maybe a sore throat? Maybe I’m just dehydrated – it’s a bit arid over here.”

“We have a result?” Jim asked, interrupting them. He glanced at his chrono – it was 06:31 ship’s time.

Bones nodded. “Looks like it is bacterial – the little buggers are growing like mad in the petri dishes. Olson’s been trying to hook up a microscope so I can see - here’s hoping this thing’s something we recognize.” 

They were joined by Lieutenant Uhura; Jim got up and joined her by the doorway while Bones continued with coaching Olson through his task.

“Any updates?” she asked. 

Jim knew she’d take whatever he said back to Williams, so he was as complete as he could be. “Something’s growing. They’re trying to hook something up so Olson can transmit an image of it back. If it’s a known bug, then Bones can get ready to treat Olson and the Captain when they get back.”

“Then I’ll be sure to keep my fingers crossed.” 

“What if they can’t get back?” 

“We will get them back,” she said with enough confidence to convince Jim. She stood on her toes to try to see over Jim’s shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of the screen. “Where’s the Captain?” she asked when she saw that it was Olson in view.

“Meeting with the Tyrian commander, I think.”

“How is he?” she asked, her eyes filled with concern.

“Bones says his breathing doesn’t sound very good.”

She bit her lip and nodded, once. When she spoke, her voice was higher than usual. “I’ve got to get to the bridge for my shift. You’ll let me know if anything changes?”

“I will.”

She squeezed his arm once then turned and left.

\----

Olson had finally managed to rig it so that the image of the bacteria under the microscope could be transmitted back to the Enterprise. 

“Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle, it can’t possibly be…” Bones peered into the screen with his nose so close it was practically touching it, then traced the outlines of the image he was looking at with his fingertips as if he was verifying it was real. He referred to his PADD just to be sure. “Daqori Plague? Can it be that simple?”

“I don’t think anything with the word ‘plague’ in its name is all that simple, Bones,” Jim said. 

“I have to agree with the kid,” Olson said, looking uneasy.

“There’s nothing for you to worry about, Chief – in humans, it’s like a really bad flu – there can be complications, but it usually just means you’ll be sick as a dog for a few days.”

“But in species with copper-based blood such as Vulcans and Tyrians, it can be very fast-acting and lethal,” another voice said.

“There you are then, Captain,” Bones said, wincing. 

The image switched back to the projection from the room where Spock and Olson were; Spock came into view, and sat down beside Olson. He looked exhausted, with deep brown shadows under his eyes like bruises, the rest of his face drawn and pale. When he coughed into a tissue he held, it sounded wet and painful to Jim.

“Yes, Doctor.”

“I’d ask you how you feel, but I already know.” He rose. “The treatment for Daqori Plague is very straightforward – I’ll go down to the medbay now to begin to synthesize it. You hang in there my friend, all right?”

Spock made a show of looking around himself. “There are no structures within this room capable of bearing my weight, Doctor, so I will unable to hang anywhere.”

“Vulcan humor – hilarious,” Bones said grimly and walked from the room, leaving Jim alone for the time being.

“So,” Jim said to the two men on the screen. 

“So,” Olson said.

“So,” Spock added, then coughed discreetly into his tissue again.

“You guys wanna play Scrabble or something?” Jim asked.

\----

It was after his bridge shift, and Jim lay on his back in his bunk, exhausted. He’d gotten perhaps six hours of sleep in the last two days, and he could feel weariness in every muscle, but his brain would not turn off. 

He was restless and could not stop thinking of the Captain, sick and getting worse, trapped on an alien vessel, and unable to get the help he needed. There had been no progress on anything in the last sixteen hours, no sign the stalemate would end. All efforts to engage in diplomatic dialogue with the Commander of the blockade had been ignored, and in the meantime, Captain Spock languished aboard the _baaks-Tr’rn_ , suffering from a disease that would barely have meant he’d miss a day’s work if he’d had access to adequate medical care.

Jim couldn’t stop thinking about him, and couldn't shake the sense of responsibility for the Captain’s safety. He knew it was irrational, “illogical” as the Captain would undoubtedly say, but the fact that he had been charged by Williams with keeping the comm link open made him feel invested. 

It had nothing to do with the fact he had a major crush on his Commanding Officer. Nope, none.

Getting out of bed before he could think too much about it – he was still fully clothed – Jim made his way down the familiar corridors to the sensor lab. When he arrived, no one was there, and the viewscreen showed nothing but an empty room. “Captain? Chief Olson?” Jim called.

A moment later, Spock appeared, looking more haggard and ill than before. Jim noticed he was beginning to develop the skin lesions he’d seen on the Tyrians; there was a patch of discolored skin high on Spock’s cheekbone that he scratched at idly and then winced. He sat down. “Mister Kirk. It is very late, is it not?”

“I’m sorry, I just kinda came down here – if you want to rest –“

“I believe the old Earth saying is, ‘I will rest when I am dead.’”

Jim didn’t really have a response to that, and he looked down.

“I have made you uncomfortable.”

“You have a way of doing that.”

“Vulcans discomfit many humans.”

“That’s not the reason.”

“Is it not?”

Jim could feel the color rising in his cheeks, so he changed the subject. “Where’s Chief Olson?”

“I believe he is resting in another room. Until half an hour ago, I was meeting with Commander Williams. The stalemate continues.”

“We have the superior fire power, sir. I don’t understand why we don’t break through their blockade and come get you –“

“You have your orders.”

“But the reasons behind them –“

“Are not for you to question, Lieutenant. There is a chain of command for a reason. Without it, we devolve into disorder and chaos.”

Jim looked up at him; his eyes were so expressive. Even if his face and tone of voice remained dispassionate, Jim could see the faith there – in the mission of Starfleet and their reasons for exploring the galaxy. It was the same kind of passion Jim had grown up around. “You sound like my mother.”

“She is a very intelligent woman.” 

Jim cocked his head to the side, looking for some irony there. 

“I have met Captain Kirk, and it took no time at all for me to draw that conclusion,” Spock clarified. 

Of course they would know each other – they were captains of starships in the same fleet. 

“She spoke of you, when we met.”

“I don’t know if I want to know this,” Jim said with a lopsided grin.

“It was only in passing. She was describing your doctoral thesis to a colleague.”

“I was right – I really don’t want to know this.”

“She was very complimentary, and her remarks made me want to read the work in question.”

“You read my thesis?”

“It was quite well presented, if prolix.”

“This coming from a Vulcan?”

“Impertinence, Mister Kirk?” Spock raised an eyebrow, but the corners of his mouth quirked up, and Jim smiled. “I found your series of papers on Dark Matter Substructures within the Magellanic Clouds to be more to my taste.”

“I don’t believe you’ve read my work.” 

“I read the works of many of your Sciences colleagues – it helps in the decision-making when presented with candidates to fill open positions on board the ship. Naturally, I began with your thesis, but when I read the balance of your work, I knew you would be a valuable addition to my crew.”

Jim looked away, unbelievably flattered, but also at a loss for words. Luckily, Spock changed the subject. 

“I spent some time in conference with Commander Visis earlier, and have learned some fascinating things about Tyrian society.”

“Such as?”

“They are a race with a long and proud warrior tradition, who appear to value physical strength and perfection above all else. Feats of valor in battle are the highest valued. Any weakness is vilified almost to the point of being a criminal act. This includes any kind of disease that might compromise an individual’s vitality or contribution to society.”

“To the point of dooming people with a curable disease to die in space?”

“We cannot judge their morality.”

“It’s getting harder for me to maintain that stance, sir. If they’d only asked for help, the Federation might have saved hundreds or even thousands.”

“They do not see it that way – to request aid is to admit weakness.”

“Then what brought Commander Visis to call for us? And why wouldn’t he have warned about the plague so we could take the necessary precautions?”

“I asked him these very questions. He replied that, as a Captain, I should understand why, which I took to mean he felt he had a responsibility to the men and women he commands. However, it was clear to me that it was a decision he did not make lightly, and that it weighed heavily on him.” 

“And the latter?”

“On that point he was most apologetic, but given his desperation to save himself and the people under his care, I cannot say I judge him. He has been told there is no cure for this plague – whether it is a fallacy deliberately perpetuated by the Tyrian government, or simply something beyond their skill, I cannot say.”

“Bones – I mean Doctor McCoy – says their medical capabilities are shockingly under-developed.”

“An accurate assessment, but I believe it is based in their societal mores rather than any lack of intellectual capacity. They are warp-capable, after all.”

Jim nodded and shifted in his chair, suddenly aware he had been staring into Spock’s eyes during this entire exchange and not self-conscious about it. Before either could say anything more, Spock succumbed to a severe bout of coughing. He was briefly out of range of the camera, and when he returned, he was leaning forward, using his arms for support. He had a look of pained exhaustion in his eyes that hurt Jim to see. 

“We have to get you out of there.”

“We must accept… that that… might not occur, that I will succumb to this illness before a solution to the problem can be found,” Spock wheezed.

“I don’t accept that.”

“It… is not in your nature?”

“And I don’t think it’s in yours, either, Captain.” 

“Do you not think there is a certain…” He appeared to be looking for the right word. “…beauty… or _clarity_ to be found in the acceptance?”

“Or logic?” Jim asked quietly. Spock nodded as Jim thought it over. “No. I believe life is too precious to be given up that easily. I believe you fight until you breathe your last breath, and even that gets torn out of you kicking and screaming.”

“An interesting mix of metaphors.”

“Well, by golly, I was no English major.”

Spock’s eyes smiled at him. “You have an interesting… manner of expressing yourself,” he said. “ _’By golly… Jeepers’_ these are not terms in common use among your Terran peers.”

“No. No, they’re not, ha-ha,” Jim said, sitting back in his chair, his mood lightened by the Captain’s deft change of subject. “There’s a story behind that, actually.”

“Will you tell it?”

“I will, but I’m not so sure you want to hear it – it’s kind of boring.”

“I have nothing but time at the moment, and it is late. Perhaps boredom will ease me into slumber.”

Jim laughed again. “OK, here goes: It’s all my mother’s doing. When I was five, my brother Sam, who is five years older than me, started using cuss words a lot. You know how it is with kids – always testing their boundaries? One day, our mom caught him at it, and asked him to repeat one of them back to her. He didn’t want to, of course, but she made him. Then she asked him to define it for her. And he couldn’t, of course – I mean, he was ten.”

“What was the word, if I may ask?”

“I don’t like to… um…” Jim cleared his throat. “Well, it had to do with a sex act?” 

“Ah.” Spock nodded in understanding. 

“Anyway, so Mom said she didn’t mind if he used those words, just that he needed to know what they meant first, because no son of hers was going to be accused of ignorance. She went on to say that she didn’t think any less of anyone who used them, but that using those words showed a lack of imagination in a person, which was why she didn’t. And it’s why I don’t today.”

Jim had been staring off into space as he recalled that day, and when he looked back at the screen, Spock was leaning forward, raptly attentive. “No one could accuse you of lacking imagination, James.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

They looked at each other for several seconds, but were interrupted by Bones entering the room.

“Oh good – you’re up,” McCoy said to Spock. “Saves me having to wake you.”

Jim and Spock both drew away from the screen at his entrance. 

“I won’t ask how you feel, because you look like crap.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Did you take bedside manner 101 pass/fail, Bones?” Jim asked, and got a scowl as an answer.

“I’ve finished synthesizing the treatment for Daqori Plague.”

“That’s great, Bones!”

“Yes, congratulations, but there is just the matter of my being trapped aboard an alien vessel with several battle cruisers between the Enterprise and myself with which to contend.”

“Psh,” Bones said, “is _that_ all.”

“There must be a way to get past this,” Jim blurted. “It’s so frustrating!”

“What’s frustrating is this treatment could very well be effective for those aboard that plague ship – there’s no reason for them to live like this, with the constant threat of death hanging over them. That’s the kicker in this whole thing, that I can’t help these people – _Daqori Plague is curable!_ ”

“Perhaps that is the answer,” Spock said quietly. “The Tyrians have banished those afflicted with the plague to this ship because they abhor weakness and imperfection of any kind. 

“They sound like a real buncha winners,” Bones said.

“When they learn we can provide a cure, they must allow the Enterprise through.”

\----

A conference to present the idea to Visis was called later that morning. Spock, Visis, and Olson sat at their end, McCoy, Commander Williams, and Jim on the Enterprise end. Jim wasn’t sure why they allowed him to stay, but he was grateful. 

“Commander Visis, thank you for agreeing to this conference,” Spock said by way of kicking things off. “We think we have a way break this impasse with your military that would allow Chief Olson and myself to return to our ship. We would like to request your feedback on the likelihood it will be acceptable to your leaders.”

“Captain Spock, I would be most grateful to help in any way that I can – your assistance in saving my ship and its people was most kind and I am eager to repay it.”

“Very well. Our proposal is this: since the plague that has affected you has a cure that my medical team can produce in quantity, we are of a mind to –“

“What – what was that, Captain?” Visis asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Did you say ‘cure’?”

“Yes. The disease that afflicts your people, while virulent and often fatal if allowed to go untreated, has a highly effective treatment. The medical staff aboard the Enterprise –“

“A cure,” Visis breathed; Jim thought the poor man looked utterly shocked. “A _cure_?”

“Yes, Commander,” Bones interrupted. “One we have known about for over a century.”

Visis closed his eyes, and Jim could see that his hands were shaking. “Thousands have died. Whole villages gone. And there is a cure.” 

“Yes, Commander.”

“Will it work for a Tyrian physiology?”

“Clearly this bug works more slowly on Tyrians than Vulcans,” Bones replied, “and we won’t know until we run some tests. But I’m confident we can have something within a matter of days.”

“Days you say?” Visis’ shaking became more pronounced, and began to extend to his voice. “You will excuse me, Captain?” he said, then got up and left the room.

After several moments, Visis returned, his manner calm and business-like once more. “I apologize for my outburst.”

“Back to the matter of our proposal,” Spock began again once Visis had sat down. “We would make an offer to your planetary officials to share the treatment as well as the means to manufacture it in exchange for –“ 

“They will never accept your help,” Visis said flatly. 

“Why would they not?” 

“The Tyrian people are proud – we do not seek assistance from outworlders.”

“Yet _you_ did,” Bones interjected. “If you hadn’t, your ship would have crashed into the planet, killing thousands.”

“Yes, in my desperation I sought your help, and there are many on board that believe I was in the wrong to have done it. If I was not stationed here, doomed to certain death, I would already have been court martialed and stripped of command, disgraced.”

“But don’t you see – there is a cure, one that’s been effective for decades. If your people weren’t so xenophobic, you’d have known that.”

“It is a bitter reality, Doctor, but our fate is already determined. Even if every trace of infection was eradicated, we would not be welcome at home. We will be shunned – we are the Unclean, we are already forgotten.”

“Then why don’t you leave?” Jim asked. “I mean, they’ve sent you all out here to die, so they don’t have to look at you, be reminded of their cruelty. Why don’t you just do them a favor and leave?”

“Leave?” Visis asked, incredulous.

“Yes, Commander – are your ship’s engines capable of travel other than maintaining orbit?”

“Are they, Chief?” Spock asked Olson.

“Aye, she’s capable of impulse, at least.”

“I don’t understand,” Visis said.

But Spock did, he knew exactly what Jim was getting at. “Under interplanetary law, you and your people may ask for political asylum. Once requested, as Starfleet officers, we cannot refuse you. You will be able to leave this system under our protection, to seek treatment for your people, and a new place to settle.”

“Leave our home world?” 

“All due respect, Commander, but it’s not your home any longer,” Jim pointed out quietly, “And it never will be again.”

Visis rose. “I will require time to consider my decision,” he said.

Spock rose as well. “Of course, Commander – take as much time as you require.” They clasped forearms in a gesture they’d used earlier – Jim surmised it was Tyrian tradition – and Visis left the room. Jim did not miss that Spock began to sway on his feet before taking his seat again. 

“Just don’t take _too much time,_ ” Bones muttered, echoing all their thoughts.

\----

In the end, it took Visis less than an hour to come to his decision, but more than four more to prepare the ship to break orbit, an effort led by Chief Olson as none of the Tyrian engineers were trained in anything other than basic maintenance. In the intervening time, repairs to the Enterprise’s port nacelle were completed. Jim and Uhura worked to cobble together a subspace communications link between the Enterprise, the _baaks-Tr’rn_ , and Starfleet HQ. Jim stood at the back of the long range sensor lab with Uhura as Williams and Bones took seats in front of the monitor; Spock and Olson sat at their end, waiting, when Admiral Nogura finally joined in. 

“Captain, I wish I could say it is my pleasure to see you, but you do not look well,” Nogura said. 

“Yes, thank you, Admiral,” Spock said with a raised eyebrow and a subtle cough into his hand. 

“I take it the situation remains the same with the Tyrians?”

“It does not. The commander of the plague ship has asked for asylum.”

Nogura looked surprised. “Oh? On what do they base this request?”

“The afflicted on board this vessel are considered outcasts, stripped of their rights by a society that sees them as unclean, a burden. Their only crime is that they have contracted a disease – one that is curable, and that their own government refuses to seek assistance in eradicating. These people require protection, and it is our duty to provide it.”

Nogura stared at Spock for a moment. “A neat resolution, Captain. Was this your idea?”

“Only if it does not work, Admiral.”

Nogura nodded. “And do you think you’ve got the firepower to defend this ship should it come down to it?”

“I would defer to Commander Williams on that, sir.”

“We can take them, sir,” Williams said confidently. “Their shields are no match for photon torpedoes, and their most effective weapons, the drone ships, have been neutralized thanks to some quick thinking by Lieutenant Kirk there.” She nodded in Jim’s direction. 

Nogura looked at Jim as if noticing him for the first time – and for all Jim knew he was. “So you’re Winona’s boy, eh?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Jim stammered.

“I’ve heard good things, son.”

Jim’s mouth went dry as Nogura watched him, and he may have made a squeaking noise, but the conversation thankfully moved on.

“The USS Pasteur and the USS Farragut are in a nearby sector,” Nogura said, referring to something on the terminal in front of him. “They will rendezvous with you to assist with the refugees, and in the meantime, I’ll see about securing the Tyrians some temporary accommodations. Let’s see if we can’t help these poor people at last.”

“I will assume, then, that you approve of our actions in this matter?” Spock asked.

“I approved of your actions from the jump, Captain, but there were others who found kissing Cardassian ass to be more important.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I expect regular updates on your progress. Nogura out.”

The admiral’s transmission cut out, leaving the Enterprise officers staring at each other. Spock was the first to speak. “We have our orders. Commander Williams, make the ship battle-ready to defend the _baaks-Tr’rn_. Lieutenant Uhura – begin communications with the Farragut and the Pasteur – we will need you to coordinate our rendezvous. Chief Olson – continue with assisting the Tyrians to make this ship ready to move. And Doctor McCoy – you will ready your team to deal with the most critical patients.”

There was a chorus of “Ayes,” and all went immediately to carry out the Captain’s orders.

“What about me, sir?” Jim asked when they’d all gone. “What shall I do?”

Spock sagged in his chair, whatever will that had been sustaining him in the last hours draining away. When he raised a hand to his face, Jim noticed it was shaking very badly. “What can you do, Mister Kirk?”

“I think I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind, Captain.”

\----

“Captain, they are ready to begin,” Jim said in a low voice. “Captain?”

Spock stirred and raised his head – he’d taken a few minutes to meditate, but Jim saw that he’d fallen asleep not too long into it. He looked pale and drawn, his eyes feverish; there was a thin sheen of perspiration on his face that hadn’t been there before, and the wheezing as he breathed was getting much worse.

“Thank you, Mister Kirk,” he said before lapsing into a coughing fit. 

Jim leaned forward, instinctively wanting to help, but of course he could not. Spock nodded his thanks and dabbed at his streaming eyes with a tissue. He waved to Jim, who turned the monitor – and the camera within it – to face the dual displays that had been configured beside Jim. One mirrored the tactical display from the bridge, the other the real-time view from the view screen on the bridge. Uhura had helped Jim set it all up so that Spock could monitor everything.

Spock signaled to Jim with his hand, and Jim hit a button on his comm. “The Captain says to proceed,” Jim reported.

“Aye, sir,” came Williams’ voice over the line. 

Jim noticed that the alert lights switched from yellow to red, but there was no general announcement nor klaxons, as most of the crew were already at their assigned battle stations.

“Who is on tactical?” Spock asked in a weakened voice.

Jim winced – they’d been over this already. “Chekov, sir.”

“That is right – how could I have forgotten? And Mister Sulu is at the helm.”

“Yes, sir.”

At once, the feed of their view from the bridge split in two, and then that half split again; the upper right quadrant showed Commander Visis as he hailed Commander Shtahk of the Imperial Tyrian Fleet. It took several minutes, but eventually, Shtahk came into view as the feed was shared back to the Enterprise, directly from the bridge of the _baaks-Tr’rn_. 

Shtahk curled his lip in disgust as he looked at both Visis and, Jim presumed, Commander Williams in her seat on the bridge. “What is the meaning of this, Visis? Is it not bad enough you have called these outworlders here, but you dare to contact us directly?”

“Do not worry, Shtahk, I will not keep you from your mirewine for long,” Visis replied with a nasty sneer of his own. “My only reason for contacting you at this time is to bid you farewell; I am taking the _baaks-Tr’rn_ away from Tyria.”

Shtahk actually laughed. “You’re what? You’ll not survive a week without the supplies we send to sustain you.”

“You mean the refuse you send only to ease your consciences? You need not bother any longer – we will not have need of them.” His gaze shifted; Jim assumed he was now looking at Williams. “Commander, I would like to formally request asylum from the Federation for my ship and its people.”

“Asylum is granted, Commander,” Williams answered. “As are the protection and resources of this ship and of Starfleet as well. We welcome you.”

“What?!” Shtahk roared. “This will not stand!”

“I will tell you what will not stand, Shtahk,” Visis was saying. He rose from his seat, nostrils flaring and chest puffed up in anger; for a moment, Jim forgot all about the plague-stricken man he’d been used to seeing and glimpsed the warrior he had been before. “What will not stand is our government’s treatment of its own people, its willful ignorance of the assistance we might have called on other worlds to provide. Do you know there is a cure for this disease, this plague? And has been for many years?”

“It is not our way –“

“Then perhaps it should be – think of the lives that might have been saved, members of your own family among them. There is no shame in seeking help when it is needed from those who would willingly give it.”

Shtahk merely sneered. “Your weakness disgusts me. You are Unclean, unworthy.”

“Commander, the Tyrians are turning about; they’re powering up their weapons,” Pavel reported. “They’re targeting the plague ship.”

“Ready photons,” Williams replied in a low voice. “Sulu, get ready to execute defensive maneuver beta on my mark.”

“Aye, ma’am,” Sulu and Chekov responded simultaneously.

Jim braced himself in his seat and risked a glance back at Captain Spock, who was watching the scene unfold as raptly as Jim had been.

“She will need to engage within the next 4.1 seconds in order to…” Spock began to say. 

“Engage,” Williams ordered calmly.

With a roar, the Enterprise’s engines sprang to life as Sulu executed the pre-set course. The ship sped forward, covering the distance between its former position and the _baaks-Tr’rn_ in seconds. The Enterprise then swung hard about to starboard so that she was facing the Tyrian battle cruisers head-on. 

The tactical screen flickered out and then on again as it coped with the sudden changes. When it came back online, it showed the massive plague ship being defended by the comparatively tiny Enterprise, three battle cruisers arrayed in front of her.

Jim glanced at Spock again, only to find that the screen had gone blank. “Old Mother Hubbard!” Jim exclaimed as he swung his chair around and began to try to get the signal back. “Captain, are you there?”

When there was no answer, Jim tried to launch the secondary protocol he’d set up earlier, but it was taking its sweet time loading.

Meanwhile, Commander Williams was addressing the Tyrians. “Commander Shtahk, in accordance with interplanetary laws and treaties, I hereby inform you of our intent to defend the Tyrian vessel _baaks-Tr’rn_. We extend to her, and all who reside upon her, the full protection of the Federation. To fire upon her or us would be interpreted as an act of war. I urge you to stand down.”

“This is an outrage! You are interfering in our planet’s sovereign right to–“

“Commander, I remind you that the Enterprise proved to be more than a match for your weapons in our earlier altercation. While it would be regrettable, I will not hesitate to blow you and your ships out of the sky. Do you understand?”

While Jim only had a part of his attention on the conversation, it seemed like an awfully long time before Shtahk finally relented. Without a word back to Williams or Visis, he ordered his ships to stand down, and cut communication to both ships.

“The Tyrians are disengaging their weapons and retreating,” Pavel reported with relief in his voice.

Jim breathed a sigh of relief of his own, but he was still unable to restore the signal to the Captain. He hit his comm button. “Kirk to Bridge, I’ve lost the Captain’s signal.”

“The Tyrians have stopped jamming us,” Uhura answered. “I should be able to patch in directly…”

Seconds later, the screen flickered to life, but what Jim saw there brought him to his feet. Captain Spock was on the floor, gasping desperately for air, his face an alarming shade of green. 

“Bridge, are you seeing this?” Jim said, but they undoubtedly had.

“Bridge to Transporter Room 2, can you get a lock on Captain Spock?”

Seconds felt like minutes. “Aye, ma’am,” came the eventual reply.

“Beam him back here as soon as you can,” Williams ordered, even as Chekov reported he was lowering the ship’s shields. Williams then called for McCoy to send a team to see to Spock as soon as he was brought aboard. 

Whatever happened next, Jim never knew, because he had already taken off for the transporter room at a dead run.

\----

When Jim arrived, the entry to the tiny transporter room was teeming with personnel, all speaking at once. Above their voices, Jim heard a familiar growl. “Can you all just step back and let the man get some air?” Bones bellowed, and the din in the room settled down immediately. “Bring me that gurney,” Bones ordered.

Jim noticed an orderly pushing an anti-grav gurney forward and followed it inside where he stood just inside the door. 

Much to his relief, Captain Spock was sitting upright on the transporter pad, supported by McCoy, who held an oxygen mask to his face. As the gurney was brought into position, Bones helped Spock to stand, then got him situated on top of it. He grabbed his tricorder and began to scan him.

Jim moved instinctively aside as someone pushed into the room past him. Glancing over, he saw Lieutenant Uhura walk past.

“How is he?” she asked Bones.

“On the verge of respiratory arrest, but we got him back in time. We’ll start him on intravenous antibiotics as soon as we –” 

Bones’ voice cut off as she got closer to Spock – everyone stopped talking, in fact, as Uhura took the Captain’s hand, leaned over, and kissed him.

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So IDK if this has been determined in fandom or canon at all or what, but I reason that if oxygenated Vulcan blood is green, it must be brown when depleted of oxygen (just as oxidized copper is green, unoxidized is brown). Therefore, the circles under Spock’s eyes are brown.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life gets back to normal; Jim gets a surprise.

Jim sat in the coffee bar in the Deck 6 officer’s lounge, hunched over a large mug. It was coffee in name only, really, as it was mostly milk and caramel syrup. And those chocolatey cookie crumb things. He was vaguely aware that someone had taken the seat next to him, and when they set the jar of toffee bits down in front of him, he turned his head to look at them.

“Toffee bits? Are you enabling me now?”

“You look like you needed the hard stuff,” Bones replied. He put his hand back on the jar. “If I’m wrong, I’ll just put them back…”

Jim rested his fingertips on Bones’ wrist. “No, no. Leave them.”

“You doin’ OK?”

“I’m really, really tired.”

“Well, that’s good to hear – justifies my putting you on medical leave for the next 48 hours.”

“What? Bones, come on!”

“Don’t ‘Bones, come on’ me, Jimmy boy, you’ve been on duty for something like four days straight – you and the entire bridge crew are on medical leave, for your own good.”

“What about you? Are you on leave too?”

“I’m a doctor – we’re bred for sleep deprivation.” The petty officer that ran the coffee bar brought him his usual red eye and Bones thanked him with a nod and a grunt. 

“Hypocrisy looks good on you, Bones,” Jim said, opening the jar of toffee bits and tossing some into his mouth.

“Thanks. And jealousy looks bad on you. You need to get over him, kid.”

“I was never under him.” 

Jim’s face turned beet red when he realized what he’d just said, and he looked around to make sure no one could hear this conversation. “Anyways, it’s not so much jealousy as envy – there _are_ subtle differences.”

“Yeah, OK. Still hurts like hell though, don’t it?” Bones held his hand out and Jim filled his palm with toffee bits.

“Yes.”

“I’m not gonna say I told you so, but… I mean…” He shrugged.

“You totally did not tell me so.”

“I did – as soon as you came back from shore leave all moony-eyed.”

“I have never been moony-eyed, not even a little. And no, you did not.”

“You sure?” Jim gave him a look. “Well, I meant to.” Bones tossed more toffee into his mouth, then gave him a lopsided grin. “Hey Jim – don’t get all moony-eyed over Spock. Rumor has it he’s already involved with someone.”

“You are the worst best friend of ever.”

“Come on, you love me.”

“You’re lucky that I do.” Jim took a swig of his coffee and then winced. 

“Not sweet enough?”

“It’s gone cold.” 

“It’s a sign to go and get some sleep – you’ll feel better. That’s doctor’s orders.”

It was probably the power of suggestion, but Jim realized he was utterly exhausted. He turned on his stool and rose, clapped Bones on the shoulder, then headed for the nearest turbo lift. He barely got his boots off before he was asleep in his bunk.

When he woke nine hours later, his head still felt a bit muddy, but he used up the rest of his monthly ration for a water shower, and it cleared out the rest of the cobwebs. When he looked at his chrono, he saw it was 11:28, so he headed to the canteen for a late breakfast/early lunch.

He had just sat down when he realized someone was standing over his table. Looking up, he saw it was Uhura. “Oh. Hi,” he said, dropping his spoon into his vegetable soup. 

She smiled back, and he realized she was looking at him with a strange expression, one he’d never seen on her before – friendliness? “Hi yourself. You all rested up?”

He tried to swallow the lump that had appeared suddenly in his throat. “I, um, yeah. Bones kinda made it mandatory.” 

“He’s such a worrywart, right?” She rolled her eyes and made a sort of snorting sound as she took the seat next to him. She was perched on the front edge of the chair, her back ramrod straight.

“I think he’d say he was doing his job.”

“Yeah.” She looked up at the ceiling and the floor, then somewhere over Jim’s right shoulder, and finally right at him. “I, um, wanted to… I wanted to say, ‘good job’ with the whole Tyrian situation. I mean, I don’t know if I’d have been able to establish that back door comm connection to their ship without your help, and… I mean, I think it’s safe to say you saved the Captain’s life.” 

Her eyes were wide and her tone was sincere, but all Jim could think about was her lips kissing Captain Spock. “I don’t know about that,” he said, picking up his spoon and moving it around his bowl of rapidly-cooling soup.

“You saved the ship, at any rate,” she pointed out. “That was quick thinking when the drones attacked. You’re a hero, you know.”

He didn't say anything, he couldn’t. He couldn’t even really look at her. He could feel his ears turning red as the silence stretched on.

She rested her chin on her hand. “You know, this modest, aw-shucks act you’ve got going is kind of frustrating?”

She laughed lightly, and Jim knew she was trying to joke with him, but it didn't feel funny. Not coming from someone who was in a relationship with the person he’d unwisely cast in the role of _man of his dreams_. 

“Guess I’m not really…” his voice trailed off. He didn't think he wanted to have this conversation. 

“Good at taking compliments?”

“Sure,” he agreed, if only to move this conversation on to the inevitable part where she gave him her usual scornful look and tossed her ponytail at him. Instead, she rested her small hand on his wrist, so lightly he barely felt it.

“I wanted to say, also, that I’m sorry for being dismissive or distant with you.”

“I don’t think that.”

“Well, you should, because I’ve spent the last couple of months resenting you for no good reason other than you got in my way in the sensor lab. You’re a good person, Kirk, and I hope you can forgive me.”

“No apology is necessary where no offense is taken.”

She cocked her head to the side at his response, thoughtful. “Huh – that’s a very Vulcan thing to say.”

“Something I read somewhere.” Jim may have been reading up on Surakian philosophy. For reasons. “Does this mean we’re friends now?” he added.

“I would like to be,” she said sincerely and then rose. 

“Do I get to know your first name, then?”

“Yes,” she said with a wink and then walked away.

Jim watched her leave with mixed feelings. On the one hand, she had Spock, and he really wished he could hate her, or at least entertain mean thoughts about her. But on the other hand, they’d worked well together during the Tyrian mission, and he could honestly say he liked her. Her only transgression against him prior to that had been an icy attitude, which she’d just apologized for. He couldn’t hate her. 

But could he be friends with her?

“Don’t I know you?” Jon said. “You look like a roommate I used to have…”

Jim looked up into the bemused face of his roommate. 

“Whoa,” Hendorff said and took a step back, his hands up. “Who kicked your puppy?”

“I don’t have a puppy.”

“Should I get you one?”

“My soup is cold.”

“Well come on, we’ll get you some more.”

Jim let Jon lead him back through the food line, where he got a tray for each of them and filled both as they moved along. “You like pudding – have some pudding,” Jon said, and, “Ooo, mashed potatoes – mashed potatoes are soothing.” 

When they returned to the table, Jon laid Jim’s meal out before taking his own seat. Jim had to stop him at laying his napkin in his lap.

“Thanks, Cupcake, I’ve got it from here,” Jim said with an appreciative smile for his friend.

“This seat taken?” Commander Williams asked, joining them.

“No, ma’am,” Jim said as Jon got up and took her tray from her. He then held her chair out for her and planted a light kiss on her cheek before taking his own seat.

“You’re not going to eat all of that?” Williams said to Jon quietly, indicating the burger and fries he’d gotten for himself. He grunted in the affirmative. “It’s so greasy,” she said, wrinkling her nose up. 

“But, babe –“ he started to say, but she pushed her side salad at him and he reluctantly tucked into it.

Jim watched this exchange with growing amusement, and quickly forgot his bad mood. “So – any sign the Tyrian fleet is following us?” 

Williams rolled her eyes. “I’m not supposed to worry about it, because I’m on ‘mandatory rest leave,’” she said, doing a creditable impression of McCoy. “But a little birdie may have told me there’s been no sign of them.” 

“That’s good – how long until we rendezvous with the Pasteur?” The USS Pasteur was a state of the art medical aid vessel, which was deployed to help whenever Federation members or colonies were hit with any nasty pandemics or natural disasters. While the Enterprise’s medical staff had already started synthesizing the cure for the Tyrian plague victims, the Pasteur had a superior capacity for it.

“Not for another week – but I suppose these poor people have waited this long, eh?”

“I suppose,” Jim said, and watched as Williams stole three of the French fries she’d just forbade Jon. “Any word of our next mission?”

“Schedule’s wide open,” she said, turning to sit in her chair properly so she could cut her chicken sandwich in half. “That means it’s Captain’s prerogative,” she added with a smile and raised eyebrows that meant she was excited about it. She bit into her sandwich.

“What’s that mean, exactly?” Jim was pretty unfamiliar with the way command decisions were made.

“When you’re on a five-year, some of our charter comes from exploring uncharted space. Whenever the Admiralty has no direct orders for us or missions to go on, the Captain is allowed to choose where we go and for how long.”

“That’s when the _real_ funky stuff happens,” Jon said, grinning around a bite of his burger. 

“Like what?”

“Tribbles. Tentacles. Tree-people.”

“Oh my,” Jim said and pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Shut up, Jon, you’ll freak him out,” Williams said.

“I don’t think so – I’ve been working on toughening him up for weeks and weeks now, right, Jim?”

“Right – I can even take him down half the time!” Jim was proud of his progress in the gym with Jon. Though he wouldn’t say he could take on a Klingon or a Romulan, he was certainly stronger and had improved his fighting abilities.

“Only because I let him,” Jon protested, but when Jim winked at Yvonne, she laughed and patted Jon on the cheek.

“Speaking of the gym, I think I’m heading down there after lunch – seeing as I’m not supposed to be on duty or anything,” Jim said, and stood to bus his tray.

“Good – I’ll join you down there,” Jon said. “Since you’ve become so adept at taking me down, I might just start teaching you some of those _tuk t’vai_ moves.

Jim’s eyes widened – _tuk t’vai_ was a notoriously difficult Romulan martial art that was not usually taught at Starfleet Academy. Several of the Security team were aficionados. “You think I’m ready?”

“Nope. Which is why it’ll be so much fun. Be sure to do extra stretching.”

\----

Jim spent the rest of his leave in a similar fashion, hanging out with his friends, avoiding work most of the time like a good little patient, and watching Jon and Yvonne be cute together. It only occurred to him later that seeing that should remind him of what he didn’t have, and when it did, he couldn’t shake it off. Bones would have been able to shock him out of it, he thought, but he was heading up operations over on the Tyrian plague ship, where there were thousands of people who needed him a lot more than Jim.

He was jumpy his first duty shift back – they were still escorting the Tyrians to Starbase 12, where they would rendezvous with the Pasteur – and Jim was irrationally convinced that Tyrians from the home planet would reappear to wreak havoc with their deadly little drone ships. He wasn’t about to let that happen, so he went back over his programming for the defense he’d devised in an attempt to automate it. It took the entire shift, and he was certain it would work, but he sent a note to Chief Engineer Olson anyway to ask him to look it over.

He barely noticed when his relief arrived – Ensign Graves had to tap him on the shoulder. He stammered and rushed through updating her on what had happened during shift. When he turned to head for the lift, he was more than a little surprised to see the Captain standing there.

“C-Captain,” Jim said, coming to attention and stopping just short of a salute. Spock was dressed in the same sort of black, silken clothing Jim had seen him wear in the gym, soft-looking and clinging to his musculature way too well. “Should you be out of sickbay?”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, sir, that was impertinent.”

“Yet true. I should be in sickbay, but I feel I will be able to recuperate more effectively in my own quarters.”

Jim looked around the bridge rather pointedly. Spock gave that not-smile Jim thought was a figment of his imagination. 

“I merely stopped up here to take care of an important piece of ship’s business. Will you join me in my Ready Room?” he gestured for Jim to precede him. 

Jim felt his mouth go dry, but he turned and walked the few steps across the bridge toward the Captain’s office. Once inside, he stood in front of the desk at parade rest and didn’t sit until Spock invited him to. It felt weird, somehow, sitting with him again, without the view screen and thousands of kilometers of space between them. Jim had thought he had shared a rapport with Spock in some of those moments, but now he felt like a fool for thinking that at all, and for allowing his stupid crush to get the better of him. This man was his CO – Jim needed to keep reminding himself of that.

“Is something the matter, James? You seem… preoccupied.”

“Only contemplative, sir.”

“You are perhaps wondering why I have invited you here.”

“OK.”

“Your performance during our latest mission was nothing less than admirable.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Your quick thinking and skills not only saved the ship, they resulted in the rescue of thousands of Tyrian plague victims. You have the gratitude of your crew, and of your Captain. I am therefore entering a commendation into your record.”

Jim felt a flood of warmth as his face colored, but as ever he was uncomfortable accepting praise. “I wasn’t exactly acting on my own, Captain. Lieutenant Uhura and Commander Williams -”

“Will also receive official praise, along with Chief Olson and Doctor McCoy. The conduct of the crew of this vessel, as ever, has been exemplary.”

“Golly.”

“Indeed. I would also reward your performance, James, with a promotion to alpha shift Science Officer, commencing in one week’s time.”

“Sir, I’ve barely been here four months!”

“And in that time, you have acquitted yourself quite well, would you not agree?” 

“But sir –“

“You do not agree?” Spock raised an eyebrow.

“No. I mean yes. I mean, I don’t know. I’m just so new and all.”

“You must have more confidence in your abilities, Lieutenant. Your crewmates already do.”

“But what about Doctor Prabhavati? He’s the alpha shift science officer.”

“Doctor Prabhavati has informed me of his intent to retire from Starfleet at the end of the year, and is content to allow others to fill that particular duty in the interim.” 

Jim believed that could be true – Prabhavati had dropped hints that he didn’t particularly enjoy the stresses of bridge duty. 

“Do you accept, James?”

“Gee willikers.”

“I will take that as an affirmative,” Spock replied with another not-smile.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you. Wow, alpha shift? I’m honored.”

“I am pleased to hear it.”

Jim made to get up to go, but Spock kept speaking. 

“There is one other matter, James. Doctor Prabhavati informs me that you are on the verge of an important discovery.”

“What, red matter? It’s only theoretical at this point.”

“Still, if it were proven to exist, it would surely be revolutionary.”

“In some circles, yes.”

“Are you aware that this ship has no orders once we have escorted the _baaks-Tr’rn_ to Starbase 12?” 

Jim nodded.

“We will then be less than one week's journey from the site of the Kelvin attack, where I believe you originally detected traces of this red matter.”

“I didn’t realize.”

“Are you familiar with the term, ‘Captain’s prerogative,’ James?”

“I am. I mean, I have recently learned about – hey wait a minute.” Sudden excitement brought Jim to his feet. “Captain, are you saying you’re going to take us close enough to the black hole to collect red matter?”

“I believe I am.”

“Yippee!”

\----

They arrived at Starbase 12 five days later, where there was much work to be done to ensure the Tyrians were going to be properly cared-for. This was a point on which the Captain took a particular interest. When it looked like the sector’s Federation administrator was dragging his feet on relief supplies and securing temporary accommodations for the refugees, rumor had it that Ambassador Sarek himself made a personal entreaty on their behalf. 

The morning they were to leave coincided with Jim’s first day on alpha shift, and he was so nervous and excited about it he could barely sleep the night before. Fortunately, Jon was spending the night with Yvonne, so when Jim gave up on sleep completely at around 2:30, he sat up and reread the bridge officer procedural manual.

After forcing down some eggs and toast in the officer’s mess, Jim reported for duty a full thirty minutes early. He was running routine instrument diagnostics when the door to the lift opened behind him. He heard a light, feminine laugh and two sets of footsteps. Turning, he saw Uhura stride over to her station, still grinning at Captain Spock, who went straight for the command chair. 

Well. 

Jim hadn’t considered this when he’d agreed to work alpha shift, had he? The happy couple flaunting their happiness so happily?

“Morning, Kirk,” Uhura called to him, her eyes filled with mirth. “Here so early?”

“Yeah, well, punctuality is a virtue,” he replied, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Thought that was patience?”

“I’ve got that too.”

He turned back to his instruments and prepared himself for a very long day.

\----

After his shift was over and he’d had lunch with Pavel and Hikaru, Jim headed for Engineering to find Gaila.

“Jimmy!” She literally squealed when she saw him, throwing her arms around his neck. “How I’ve missed you!”

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the forehead. “I missed you too, Gay. Ready to get working on that deflector array?” 

“Are you kidding? After all this time, we finally get to collect some red matter particles? I might be more excited about it than you!”

They got right to it, making good progress on the physical adjustments they needed to make first. By the time they were done, it was well past dinner time, and the officer’s mess had closed. They went to the officer’s lounge instead, where they replicated a couple of sandwiches for themselves and took a table near the back of the room.

“What the heck is that?” Jim asked, indicating the person at the opposite end of the lounge who had taken up some kind of musical instrument that looked to be half trumpet, half Scottish bagpipes. The man started playing, and the music was eerie and unsettling.

“Hell if I know – sounds like my nightmares,” Gaila said in a low voice, but they both watched the action while they finished eating. A few more crew members arrived with other instruments – a couple of guitars and some kind of lyre or something – and soon an impromptu jam had broken out. It was not what Jim usually liked, but the last time he heard live music was at the opera with Captain Spock, and the memory made him smile his quietest smile.

Once it was over, Gaila left him there, citing a need to go and wash her hair (“Do you think it looks like this without a lot of prep?” she’d said). Alone, Jim watched the musicians for a bit longer, then noticed that a chess match was being played in the corner behind him. He didn’t know the two Ensigns who were at it, but it soon broke up with heated words and curses. When they’d both gone, Jim rose from his table and wandered over to the abandoned board.

He immediately saw what the issue was – white had been in imminent danger of losing his queen, and would be in checkmate in less than six moves. Jim picked up the queen and twirled her in his fingers – it was one of those cheap sets made from a resinous polymer. The board was metal and the pieces had magnets affixed to their bottoms – a practical consideration for a starship to be sure. 

Jim began to reset the board idly when he heard a light cough behind him. 

“Do you play chess, Mister Kirk?”

He turned to find the Captain standing there with his head cocked to the side, looking curious.

“I used to,” Jim answered, straightening the lines of pieces. “Haven’t had much time to lately, though.”

“May I challenge you to a match, then?”

 _He’s your Captain. You need to stop letting him make you nervous all the time,_ Jim told himself. _Maybe repeated exposure is what you need – some kind of immunotherapy._ Bones would be proud.

“Sure.”

They both sat down and Spock regarded the board seriously. “You should take white,” he suggested, turning the board around. 

“Oh, I dunno, sir…”

“You would not defer to me just because I am your superior officer, would you, Lieutenant?” 

“No, sir.”

“That is fortunate. Many of your peers would do so out of some instinct to curry favor.”

“I would never do that, Captain.”

“Your move is first, then.”

“Checkmate in three moves,” Jim said fifteen minutes later.

Spock blinked incredulously at the board and saw the trap Jim had set for him. He laid his king down, conceding the game.

Jim pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’m kind of a genius. I should have probably warned you.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I took your initial reluctance to be a lack of confidence in your skills. I shall not make that mistake again.”

“Don’t tell me you were deferring to me because I am your subordinate, Captain?” Jim asked, fighting a smile.

“We will play again,” Spock said, resetting the board.

“You’re white,” Jim reminded him, since he’d lost the last match.

“Checkmate in four,” Jim said twenty minutes later. 

Spock frowned at the board. “Impossible.” A moment later, he laid his king down once more. 

“Sorry.”

“Never apologize for your skills or your intellect, Mister Kirk,” Spock said, and when he looked up, Jim couldn’t help but feel like a prey animal. “Perhaps you should have pursued the command track at the Academy,” he observed, sitting back in his chair, his eyes softening. “You have a keen tactical mind.”

Jim shrugged. “I like science.”

Spock regarded him for a moment. “I understand. I too once considered pursuing a career in sciences, but I followed a different course.”

“Oh?”

“My parents are diplomats. When I was very young, I was taught the advantages of diplomacy, and soon determined that I would pursue it as a career.” He looked like he would go on, but then seemed to think better of it. “Beginning my career in Starfleet was a logical means to achieve that goal.”

“Seems like we could both have gone different ways. Can you imagine it?”

“I cannot.” Spock rose. “I have found this to be a beneficial diversion – will you honor me with a rematch tomorrow evening?”

Jim almost stammered, but took a moment to breathe before answering. “That would be agreeable. Captain.”

“Until tomorrow, then.”

Jim refused categorically to think of it as a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd clarify one thing about days on board the Enterprise. I consulted Memory Alpha to see how many shifts there generally are, and the information wasn't exactly conclusive. I've therefore chosen to go with the following: the Enterprise is on a 24-hour day, there are four duty shifts of six hours each per day, and alpha shift begins at 07:00.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They can be friends. And colleagues. Yes.

Jim totally didn’t sit in the Officer’s Lounge on Deck 6 for two hours the next evening, waiting for the Captain to arrive. _He was just hanging out._

“Lieutenant Kirk.”

Jim startled awake, his legs flailing a bit, then fumbled with the PADD in his lap to keep it from falling to the floor. He looked up into the amused eyes of his Captain and then righted his glasses, which had gone crooked since he’d been leaning his head on his hand in the chair.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting,” Spock said. “There was an unexpected conference call with the Admiralty.”

“No, Captain, I was here anyway,” Jim lied, and then blushed because of his audacity.

“Indeed? Well then, I am relieved not to have inconvenienced you.” 

Spock moved off towards the table where the chess board sat and took the seat on the white side. Jim sat down. 

“I have been looking forward to our rematch all day – I am keen to best you, Mister Kirk.”

“Your move, then,” Jim said, gesturing at the board. 

“Checkmate,” he added less than fifteen minutes later.

“Impossible,” Spock insisted.

“Is it?” Jim asked, looking over the board and replaying the match in his head. “It was _you_ who totally fell for the trap my knight set for your queen, wasn’t it?”

“Your impertinence has been noted, Mister Kirk.”

“Just so you don’t hold it against me, sir,” Jim replied, and was rewarded with a patented Vulcan not-smile.

Spock leaned back in his chair as Jim reset the board. “You are very good – better than anyone I have yet played.”

“I don’t think much about it, really.”

“Are you rated?”

“My mom made me take a computer-based test once – I beat it.” 

“You defeated the computer? Such tests are designed to measure the skill of the player at increasing levels of difficulty – they are designed to be unwinnable.”

“I don’t believe in no-win scenarios,” Jim replied, shrugging. 

“Do you not? Have you heard of the Kobayashi Maru?”

“Is that Japanese?”

“It is a test of one’s command capabilities.”

“Well, that explains it then – I was never interested in command track at the Academy.”

“You would have done very well. I believe you have great aptitude for it.”

“I was always more interested in theoretical constructs – physics is what gets my blood pumping.”

“Would you say it is your passion?”

Jim gave the question serious thought. “I think I would. It’s like a puzzle inside a puzzle – no matter how many times I find the solution, there’s always another one inside.”

“I thought you do not believe in no-win scenarios?”

“They’re only no-win when you give up,” Jim pointed out.

“Fascinating,” Spock said and then reset the board. 

Jim wasn’t sure what he meant.

\----

“Checkmate in four moves.”

“Bah!” Spock said in very un-Vulcan frustration, laying his king down. It was the next evening, and he and Jim had met for another chess match. Jim seemed to have brought out a competitive streak in him that the Captain fought unconvincingly to suppress.

“Should we play something else? Fizzbin, maybe?”

“Card games are unchallenging.”

“Not if you’re playing them right.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”

“In cards, you play the other person as much as you play the game itself. When you do, you learn a lot more about them – what makes them tick, what will ultimately beat them.”

“It is the same with chess, is it not?”

Jim colored. “I suppose it is.” He looked away, wanting to avoid more than anything the inevitable follow up: _What have I learned about Spock by playing him?_ or more importantly, _What has he learned about me?”_

Spock seemed to pick up on his discomfort, and asked instead, “Who taught you to play chess?”

“My mother, but I started beating her all the time, so I had to play old guys in the park when my nanny would take me.”

“The Andorian nanny?”

Jim was pleased that Spock recalled that small detail about his life. “I was six.” He smiled, remembering Pilqa and the “adventures” she would take him on – treasure hunts that were really trips to the farmer’s market, and epic quests that were excuses to visit museums around San Francisco. Jim had his mother to thank for his intellect, but Pilqa to thank for his curiosity and sense of adventure. “Who taught you?”

“My father, Sarek, was the Vulcan ambassador to Earth and discovered a great affinity for the game. He taught me when I was young, and I became quite accomplished. Or so I thought.”

Jim didn't want him to feel bad. “You shouldn’t count it as a failure or anything – I’m kind of a freak – an outlier.”

“I would hardly call you that. I think I would instead use the term, ‘unique.’”

Jim tried his best not to squirm with pleasure at the compliment.

\----

“Tell me why you decided on Starfleet, Captain?” It was three nights later and Jim and Spock sat across from each other at the chess board, which sat untouched between them.

“I revealed in an earlier conversation that my ultimate career goal is the diplomatic service?” Spock began, and Jim nodded. “I made that decision early on in my life. When I was very young, we traveled extensively as a consequence of my father’s work as an ambassador. It was his contention that my mother and I ought to absorb as much of that experience as was practical, and so I was often included on outings or invited to social functions where I could observe my father’s interactions with other species directly. I learned much due to that observation, though I did not know it at the time.

“When I was older and we resettled on Vulcan, I was sent to a Vulcan school, to be taught in the Vulcan way. My differences– the fact my mother is human, that I had lived off-world during my formative years – singled me out in the eyes of many of my peers. They thought they could use that to… ‘get a rise out of me’ is the human expression, is it not?”

“Sounds about right,” Jim replied. “What did they do?”

“Groups of them would congregate and call me names, insult my personal appearance, and my parentage.”

“You were bullied? That’s not very logical.”

Spock inclined his head in agreement. “I did not allow their immature attempts at eliciting an emotional response succeed, much to their consternation. When they resorted to a physical assault upon my person, I at last had no choice.”

Jim winced, picturing a young Spock being pummeled by a gang of bullies. “How’d it go?” he asked reluctantly.

“I urged them to examine their motivations and identify the precise insecurities that would drive them to an attack upon another. If, as they implied in their jeers, I was a lesser being than they, owing to my mixed race, then it was incumbent on them to treat me with compassion and understanding. I urged them to reflect upon whether their parents, or even Surak himself, would view their behavior as logical.” 

“You talked your way out of it?” 

“Was it not Henry Kissinger who defined diplomacy as the art of restraining power?” Spock looked down, and for a moment Jim thought he perceived a furrow between his eyebrows at the memory. 

“They said you were a lesser being to them? Didn’t that hurt?”

“A true Vulcan would say that hurt feelings are illogical,” was the quiet response. Spock looked up, his eyes shining with an inner quality that Jim couldn’t quite name. “But I am not a true Vulcan. I am half human and have always been urged to embrace that aspect of myself, and to celebrate it. My parents’ marriage, though atypical in that it is interspecies, is one they each strive to learn from every day. My mother appreciates the calm and stability of her Vulcan mate even as my father reveres the passion and compassion of his wife. As the product of that union, I could be nothing less than a reflection of their mutual love and respect. To allow others to push me to shame over it was unimaginable. I defended myself as I had been taught.”

Jim found himself openly staring at Spock as he spoke. “There’s a human expression – to be the bigger man. That’s what you did. How old were you?”

“The equivalent of ten standard years.”

“I’d say you showed remarkable restraint. Most people would have taken a swing at one of them. What happened next?”

“I was taken to task for my actions by the school’s headmaster.”

“What? Why?”

“For causing my tormentors to feel such great doubt and remorse in regards to their behavior that they were driven to outbursts of extreme of emotion.”

“You made them cry?” Jim couldn’t restrain a laugh. “I’ll bet you did. Did you get in trouble?”

“Indeed not. My father Sarek was appalled that the instructors at a school that claimed to have embraced the IDIC philosophy would allow such behavior. I was schooled at home by a series of private tutors after that.”

Jim cocked his head to the side. “You too, huh? I guess we have one thing in common.”

“I would say we have many things in common,” Spock said, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

Jim snorted. “Like what?”

Spock pulled back, and his eyes lit on the chess board. “Like an affinity for chess.”

“Affinity? I’d say yours is more like a dalliance.”

“You insult me, sir,” Spock said.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –“

“James, I am jesting with you. Is that not what friends do?”

Jim blinked, taken aback. “F-friends? You consider me a friend?” 

“You have saved my life on more than one occasion, and we appear to enjoy each other’s company. Is there another designation a human might use?”

Jim smiled broadly. “No, that’s the right one. Thank you, sir. I would be honored to be your friend.”

Spock inclined his head. “I am gratified you have agreed. Now that we have an understanding, I would ask my friend a favor.” 

“Sure.”

“When we are off duty, I urge you to call me Spock. It is a reflection of parity between us, would you not agree, James?”

“I would.” Jim took a breath. “ _Spock_.” he said, trying the syllable out for himself; it would still take some getting used to. “As long as you promise to call me ‘Jim.’ No one calls me ‘James’ except for my grandmother.”

“Very well. Jim.” Spock’s lips turned up in a very real smile, and Jim couldn’t help but return it. 

“I am afraid I must go now, however,” Spock added, rising. 

Jim tried to control his disappointment from showing. 

“There are some reports I neglected to review in order to keep our nightly appointment for chess, and I must now see to them. Have a good evening. Jim.”

“You too, Captain. Uh, I mean, _Spock_.” Jim said, smiling up at him and watching him go.

Later that night, as he lay in his bed trying to fall asleep, Jim replayed his conversation with Spock – all of them, actually, from the last several weeks. He thought he might be able to trace the moment they became friends but was finding it difficult. Clearly Spock had picked up on something between them, or had seen something in Jim worthy of befriending, but Jim couldn’t quite put his finger on what. 

What he remembered most vividly was that almost every interaction was colored by his own insecurities when he was in the Captain’s – _Spock’s_ – presence. Not that he was an inherently insecure person, it was just that the mad crush he’d been nursing on Spock made it extremely hard for him to act like anything but a starstruck kid. 

And that was when it hit him: the crush he had wasn’t on _Spock_ , not really. It was on the Captain. He’d been blinded by the man’s attractiveness – physical _and_ intellectual, he wasn’t totally shallow – but hadn’t bothered to pay much attention to the man underneath. 

Jim didn’t know what to do about this revelation, or about the chagrin that was turning his face beet red in the near-total darkness of his cabin. But he did know that Spock had made the first gesture of friendship, and he wasn’t going to cheapen it by continually sneaking glimpses of him when he was working out, or eating a meal, or talking to Uhura. And wanted more than anything now to pay back the respect Spock had shown him by returning his friendship as wholeheartedly as he knew how.

He had no romantic claim on Spock, he never did, and he wasn’t about to let their fledgling friendship be tainted by feelings that were clearly unreturned. 

\----

Two days later, they detected red matter. 

It happened during his shift, when Jim wasn’t even expecting it – they were a full two parsecs away from anywhere he might have expected to find it. He was in the middle of running a simulation for the stellar cartography guys and was staring at it, bore and bleary-eyed, when an alert that said, “Red Matter Detected” began to flash on his screen. 

“Sweet fancy Moses!” he crowed as he practically jumped back from his instruments. He recovered quickly, switching his screen to the detection protocol Gaila had helped him to set up. He checked the readings himself, then checked them again before alerting the rest of the bridge crew.

“Captain, I’m getting readings of red matter a few thousand kilometers off starboard,” Jim reported. 

“That is unexpectedly soon.”

“Aye, sir. I never detected any this far away from the black hole before.” 

A commlink opened up on his terminal from Gaila as Jim was reviewing the readings. _R U seeing this?_ she texted.

 _Yes – criminy!_ Jim typed back. _Tell me the containment field is ready?_

_Ready and waiting, babe._

“Captain, engineering reports ready for the collection of the red matter,” Jim said, turning around. He had to push his glasses up his nose – all this sudden excitement was making him overheated and sweaty.

“Very well. Take us out of warp, Mister Sulu.”

“Aye.” The thrumming roar of the engines quieted as they slowed.

Spock turned to Jim. “Mister Kirk, will you direct the flight crew?”

“Sir?” 

“As this is a mission to collect a form of matter that you have discovered –“

“Actually, we don’t know _what_ it is, sir,” Jim interrupted.

“Be that as it may, we are here due to your research, Mister Kirk, and as the location of this – indeterminate substance – is such that only you will be only to direct us, it is logical that you should take the conn for the period of its collection.” 

Jim watched, slack-jawed, as Captain Spock rose from his chair. “M-me?” he squeaked.

Spock inclined his head and stepped to the side, an expectant look on his face.

“Holy cats,” Jim muttered, his eyes darting to look at the other members of the bridge crew. Uhura sat with her hand to her earpiece, as usual, but spared him a small, encouraging nod. Pavel had a happy grin plastered on his face, Hikaru a wry one.

Jim swallowed, painfully. “Switching detection display to main view screen,” he reported, then did so. He got up and walked slowly to the Captain’s chair, where he stood with it between him and Spock. Spock patted the back of the chair gently and then took a position behind and to the left, his hands clasped behind his back. Jim turned and sat down on the edge of the seat, staring at the view screen without really seeing it. 

Spock leaned in. “How does it feel?” he asked quietly, clearly amused by Jim’s reaction.

“Like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Just don’t steer us in the direction of a wall or anything,” Hikaru quipped.

“I take it that would be bad?” Jim joked, shaking off his nerves and getting down to business. 

The red matter detection subroutine that Jim and Gaila had produced superimposed a three-dimensional grid onto the space that was visible onscreen. Regions where red matter might be found were lit up a faint red – arguably not as visible on a black field, but Gaila had insisted – and got brighter and larger the closer the Enterprise got to it. Jim sat in the Captain’s chair and eyed the field before him, identifying an area where the concentrations seemed to be the highest. He gave the order to Pavel to compute a course in that direction. 

“Take us in at a quarter impulse, Mister Sulu – wouldn’t want to breeze past it,” Jim said.

“Aye, sir,” Sulu said, laying in the course Pavel gave him and slowing the ship’s engines down at the same time. 

At this speed, it seemed to take forever for them to get to where they needed to go, but Jim didn’t want to take any chances. He settled back further in the chair and activated the mini computer display that was mounted in its arm. It engaged with a light click, and Jim accessed the collection program interface that Gaila had worked out for him on it. A quick check of its settings confirmed that the collection system they’d worked out was now engaged; all he had to do once the deflector scooped up the matter was to tap a control on the screen to force the red matter into the containment field. 

“Easy, easy now,” Jim said as the Enterprise got closer. He realized suddenly that he held his hand out in front of him, as if he could pick the particles out of space himself; he self-consciously rested both hands in his lap. 

“So close,” he murmured minutes later, keeping one eye on the view screen and the other on the collection program. “A little closer. A little closer. A little closer.”

Jim’s hand hovered over the computer interface, ready to hit the button as soon as he needed to, and not a second sooner. It would happen any second now. Any second.

“What has just happened?” Spock asked, reacting at the same time Jim did to a sudden motion on the detection grid on the view screen. The red matter particles they were in pursuit of not only evaded their collection, they shot off in front of them like a cork out of a champagne bottle.

“Did it just – jump out of the way?” Pavel asked.

“Sulu?” Jim asked, checking his instrument readings even as Sulu checked their location. 

“Wasn’t me. Course and heading holding steady.”

“Let’s try again?” Jim said. “Reduce speed.”

“Aye.”

Jim flinched as the bit of red matter they were closing in on once more evaded them. They tried once more, and again they failed.

“Dang it!” Jim said in frustration as they tried and failed for the fourth time. He winced, looking back at Spock, his cheeks burning. “My apologies, sir – that kind of language was uncalled for.”

“Your apology, while unnecessary, has been noted. What could the matter be?”

“I have no idea sir – I’ll have to check the data in the logs to see what was happening. Theoretically, it ought to have worked.” Jim sat slumped back and wracked his brains over the problem. 

“Is it a solution that is immediately forthcoming, or will it take time to be implemented?”

“Won’t know until I test a few things. Also, you know: data.”

“Then you are done here?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” He looked up at Spock. “Guess it’s time to go on with our shift, eh?”

“Indeed,” Spock said, looking pointedly at the Captain’s chair.

“OH!” Jim exclaimed and practically jumped out of the chair. He brushed off the seat then stood aside. “Sorry, sir. It’s just, you know, _very comfy._ ”

“Carry on, Lieutenant,” Spock said with an expression Jim now recognized as amusement.

\----

“It doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t make sense, it –“

“Doesn’t make sense?” Gaila said sweetly, trying to lighten Jim’s mood. They were seated at the coffee bar on a pair of stools, and Jim was slumped over with his chin on his folded arms

He sat up and scowled. “Everything should have worked – if it behaved anything like it’s supposed to, it would have _worked_.”

“Well, it’s clearly unlike other kinds of matter, isn’t that why we’re here?” Gaila said, scowling right back at him. 

The scowl-off lasted all of two minutes before Jim’s face began to hurt and he let it relax. He took a sip from his coffee and frowned – it wasn’t sweet enough. “Can you pass me the fixings?” he said to Gaila, gesturing at the tray of milks, sweeteners, spices and other additives that hovered above the bar not far away.

She reached down the bar and hooked her finger inside the lip of the tray, pulling it past herself and sliding it to a stop in front of Jim. Jim grabbed a packet or six of sugar and began to shake them around to settle the grains inside them at one end. 

“Hmmm,” Gaila said, cocking her head to one side. 

“Something wrong?” 

“You know what those red matter particles seemed like to me? The way they kept eluding the deflector?”

“No?”

She passed her hand through space that lay beneath the tray – it emitted a weak magnetic field that kept it hovering above the bar at a constant height of about four inches. “Magnets.”

“Huh?”

“It was like we were repelling them, you know? Just like two positive magnets would.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “You think that could be it? Could we adjust the polarity of the magnetic field of the deflector?”

“I think it’d be a pretty easy fix,” Gaila said. “But how far to go?”

“We’ll never know if we can’t get _close enough to measure it_ ,” Jim said glumly, his hopefulness quickly dying.

They both slumped back over the bar.

“Jinkies, I can’t believe we came this far and it’s an utter failure. I totally stink.”

She sniffed in his direction. “I can detect no foul odor coming from you – you smell quite pleasant, as a matter of fact.”

Jim looked at her miserably. “Hardy-har-har. But you don’t get it – the Captain chose our mission for me, for _my research_ , and it’s come up a great big goose egg.”

Gaila slipped off her stool so she could get close enough to wrap an arm around him. “You’re not a failure just because you’ve failed, you know.”

“What’s that – some sort of Orion philosophy?”

She shrugged. “Nah – I read it on a greeting card or something. But it doesn’t make it less true – we all have setbacks, Jimmy, some of them are just more spectacular than others.”

Somehow, that made him feel worse, and it must have shown on his face.

“Spock doesn’t think less of you because this didn’t work, you know.”

“That’s not it.”

She kissed him on the cheek and then took her seat again. “Isn’t it?”

“No,” he mumbled, slumping his body further down over the bar; the stool he sat on was teetering back on two legs. Except that it totally was – he desperately wanted to prove himself to the Captain, to show him he was worthy of his promotion to Alpha shift science officer.

 _“Work!”_

Jim jumped, his stool’s legs coming down with a jarring impact, as one of the cleaning crew shouted his frustration at a malfunctioning housekeeping droid that had been sweeping the floors at the opposite end of the room. He and Gaila watched for a few minutes as the man tried to reboot the thing to no avail. At last, he was forced to put the thing away in a back room, reappearing a minute later with an old fashioned push broom.

Jim watched idly as he pushed the dirt that had accumulated on the floors into a slowly expanding pile in the middle of the room. “Oh my goodness,” he said, whacking Gaila in the arm with the back of his hand. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Ouch! You’ll be feeling what _I’m feeling_ if you keep that up, Mister!”

“Look,” he said, pointing at the cleaner. “ _Look_.”

“Jimmy, you’re a genius.

\----

“Let me get this straight – you want to ‘sweep’ the red matter particles towards us?” Commander Williams said. “With photon torpedoes?”

“ _Unarmed_ photon torpedoes,” Jim qualified.

“With a very minimal payload,” Gaila said. 

“And detonated far enough away that the force of the detonation will push the red matter particles towards us,” Jim added.

“So we can get a reading on them, determine the qualities of their magnetic field,” Gaila finished.

“How many will it take?” Captain Spock asked. They were meeting in the Conference Room, Jim, Gaila, Williams and Spock, and Doctor Prabhavati.

“Half a dozen,” Jim answered, “set off beyond the largest concentration of the particles, so we get a bit more bang for our buck.”

“We hope, anyway,” Gaila added with a smile.

“An interesting choice of words,” Prabhavati said, rubbing his chin. “But it seems like a reasonable conclusion. If it means we can finally get our hands on some of that red matter, I’m all for it, Spock.”

Captain Spock glanced at Prabhavati and then at Williams. “Can we spare the ordnance, Commander?”

“It shouldn’t be a problem, sir.”

“Very well. Lieutenant Kirk, Ensign Mara, you will make the necessary adjustments to the torpedoes. We will make the attempt at 0900 tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir! Thank you!” Jim said, so excited for the chance that he nearly tripped over his own feet leaving the room. 

\----

By 0845 the next morning, Jim had already fed Pavel the coordinates of the ideal area to find red matter particles and was working with Commander Williams at tactical on the best distance and pattern to use when the torpedoes would be detonated. 

“Lieutenant Kirk, are we ready for another attempt?” Spock asked, turning in his chair to look up at Jim, who stood beside Williams’ chair. He had an expression on his face that Jim recognized as anticipation.

“Aye, sir.”

“Very well – you may proceed.”

Jim grinned and strode over to his science station. Because they weren’t collecting specimens today, his mapping program hadn’t been loaded on the main screen, and he wasn’t going to take the conn again. Instead, he stood bent over the view finder on his station, double checking that they were near the largest concentration of red matter. “We are in position,” he reported at last.

“Torpedo sequence loaded and ready,” Williams said.

“Fire at will, Commander,” Spock ordered.

Jim turned to look at the screen to monitor the torpedoes as they detonated. As planned, they shot out of the Enterprise in perfect formation, six bright white points of light that got into position and arranged themselves as expected. Jim held his breath as they detonated all at once – tiny, intense flashes at this distance – right on schedule.

Suddenly, however, the entire field in view on the screen turned white and it seemed like every instrument panel on the bridge began lighting up as something went terribly wrong.

“Shields up,” Spock ordered even as Hikaru shouted, “What the – it’s like a huge wave of energy?” 

“Brace for impact!” Pavel called out.

That was the last thing Jim heard before the floor went out from under him and he flew across the bridge.

\----

“Jim! Come on. Wakey, wakey, egg-and-bakey.”

Jim flinched as he came around, pulling away instinctively from the hands that were smacking him less than gently on his face. “Quit it.”

“I will when you wake up, now open up those baby blues,” Bones said grumpily.

Jim opened his eyes to find he was lying on his back, still on the bridge. “Wha’ happen?”

“It appears the torpedoes ignited the red matter. The resulting explosion was powerful enough to affect the ship.”

Jim blinked up at Captain Spock, who stood over Bones’ shoulder, peering down at him. 

“ _What?_ The torpedoes were only supposed to be concussive, not incendiary,” Jim said, trying to push himself to a seated position. McCoy stopped him with a hand in the middle of his chest, pressing him back down onto the deck. 

“There would appear to be more to this red matter than originally anticipated,” Spock said.

“I’m gonna have to adjust my working hypothesis,” Jim said and pushed McCoy’s hand and the tricorder it held out of his face. He struggled to sit up; Spock was on his knees beside him in a second, to help him. “Thank you, sir.”

“It is of no consequence.” Spock took Jim’s arm to help him to his feet, and Jim winced at the sudden pain in his shoulder – he hadn’t noticed it before. 

“Let’s get you to sick bay,” McCoy said.

“Come on, Bones, I need to figure out what went wrong.”

“It’ll be waiting for you later – but now you need to get checked out. Don’t make me make it an order.”

“Aw shucks,” Jim said, and he was about to raise an objection to the Captain when Uhura interrupted them all.

“Captain Spock.”

“Yes, Lieutenant Uhura?” he asked expectantly, turning to face her. 

Jim turned too, and he noticed how pale she’d gotten, and there was a look on her face – was it fear? 

“Sir,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “I’m picking up a distress call from Vulcan!”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A particularly troubled Romulan spoils everyone’s fun.

Spock seemed frozen as he stared at Uhura for a moment. Everybody did, but their stares only seemed to make her stand taller.

“What is the nature of the planet’s distress?” Spock asked.

“Planet-wide seismic activity. Other reports are sketchy – Starfleet is ordering all starships not currently engaged in the Laurentian system to make for Vulcan with all haste.”

“Which we shall.” Spock strode over to the Captain’s chair, where he sat so stiffly Jim thought his spine might shatter. He opened a channel to Engineering. “Chief Olson, please report on damages – we will need to get to Vulcan at maximum warp.”

“All systems are go, Captain. We may have a few broken teacups down here, but the engines are sound.”

“Very well. Mister Chekov, lay in a course, we will make all speed to Vulcan.”

“Come on, Jim, gotta get you to sickbay,” Bones said, pulling Jim towards the lift.

“What? No, Bones, come on – there’s a crisis on Vulcan.”

“And you can’t report until I clear you for duty.”

“Bones!”

“Lookit, you were unconscious for nearly five minutes – I want to make sure there’s nothing wrong inside that melon o’ yours.”

“But Bones!”

“No buts, come on.” Jim reluctantly let himself be pulled along, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. “And we need to make sure that shoulder’s good to go, too,” Bones said to him quietly once they were in the lift. “I know you’ve got a responsibility, kid, but so do I.”

“You’re worse than my mom,” Jim muttered.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Bones didn’t take his hand off Jim’s elbow their entire way down to sickbay, like he was afraid Jim would run. Once they arrived, he sat Jim on a biobed in a treatment room and then left for a moment. He needed to be sure his staff were preparing for a potential onslaught of Vulcan patients once they arrived at the planet. Jim took his friend’s momentary distraction to grab a stray PADD and call up his own personal settings from the ship’s computer. By the time Bones returned to him, he was frowning at the data they’d collected when the red matter had exploded. 

“None of this makes any sense,” he said to himself. The intensity of the reaction of the red matter to the simple charges they’d set off was out of all imaginable proportions. “Ack!” Jim protested as Bones pressed a hypospray into the tender flesh of his neck. “What the heck is that for?”

“Tetanus booster – you’re due. Now lie down so the scanner can get a good image of that noggin.”

Jim reluctantly complied, lying on his back and raising the PADD to his face to keep studying the readouts. Bones made him lower it with a hand on his wrist, then began to probe Jim’s left shoulder gently with his hands. It hurt, but not as sharply as before, and Jim managed not to wince too much. McCoy turned away to grab some other piece of scanning equipment and Jim took the opportunity to raise his purloined PADD up again.

Bones turned back around and made an annoyed sound, making Jim lower the PADD as he began to scan him. Meanwhile, a shipwide broadcast echoed in the outer reaches of sickbay, and some part of Jim’s brain acknowledged that it was Pavel’s voice.

“OK, no concussion or tears in your shoulder, so that’s good,” Bones said, letting Jim sit up. “But your shoulder’s got very deep bruising, so I’d like to have at it with a regenerator, so –“

“Wait, what?” Jim said as something began to sink in.

“I said you’ve got some deep bruising and I’d like to treat it, so take your shirt off.”

Jim waved him off as he slid off of the biobed. “Not talking to you,” he said distractedly as he discarded the PADD and rushed out of the treatment room to a nearby display monitor. Activating the screen’s touch controls, he rewound Pavel’s broadcast. 

“…telemetry detected an anomaly in the Neutral Zone. What appeared to be a lightning storm in space…”

Jim felt his mouth go dry as Pav continued: “Soon after, Starfleet received a distress signal from the Vulcan High Council that their planet was experiencing seismic activity. We then lost contact with Vulcan entirely. Our mission is to assess the condition of Vulcan and assist in evacuations, if necessary. We will be arriving at Vulcan within fifteen minutes. Thank you for your time.”

Jim almost couldn’t believe his ears – he rewound the message. 

“…a lightning storm in space…”

All at once, Jim felt like vomiting, falling over, and running for his life. Instead he ran for the lift.

“Jim, what the hell, get back here!” Bones shouted at him from the door, but Jim barely heard him.

\----

“Stop the ship!” Jim practically shouted as he came running out of the turbolift onto the bridge. Every head turned to look at him, and Spock rose to his feet. “Sir, we have to stop the ship!”

“We are in the midst of a rescue mission, Mister Kirk.”

“No. Sir, we are not. Vulcan isn’t experiencing a natural disaster, I think it’s being attacked.”

“Please explain.”

Jim turned to Uhura. “Lieutenant, you’ve been picking up transmissions from Klingon space – about _‘chon meH romulu S’ngan’_ , right?” 

“You know I have,” she replied, standing up and coming over to him. 

Spock, too, was mounting the stairs to the upper deck of the bridge. “They are hunting for Romulans?” he said.

“Not just ‘Romulans,’ sir, ‘The Romulan.’”

Uhura covered her mouth with her hand as realization about something dawned on her. “Oh my God, just last night, I picked up a transmission from Rura Penthe about a Romulan prison break – they stole a ship, decimated an entire squadron of Birds of Prey.”

“And sir,” Jim added, “the same anomaly reported by Starfleet – a lightning storm in space – it’s happened once before.” Jim paused, swallowing. “It happened on the day I was born. On that day, a Romulan ship with formidable and advanced weaponry attacked and destroyed the Kelvin, and was never heard from again. That attack took place on the edge of Klingon space – what if they’ve been there all along?”

“Are you suggesting this Romulan has now re-emerged and is attacking Vulcan?”

“Sir, I think it has to be taken into consideration.”

Spock looked over at Uhura. “Scan Vulcan space for any transmissions in Romulan.”

“Aye, sir.” She returned to her station and put in her earpiece. “Sir, I pick up no Romulan transmissions – or transmissions of any kind in the area. There seems to be something jamming all communication around Vulcan.”

Now Jim really felt like he might puke. He pushed his glasses up his nose with a hand trembling from adrenaline. “It’s just – it’s just like the Kelvin.”

“Sir, the USS Hood and USS Challenger were dispatched ahead of us – there are no transmissions from either ship over subspace either,” Uhura reported. 

“It’s because they’re being attacked. It’s a trap, Captain,” Jim said. 

“Sir, we arrive in Vulcan space in one minute,” Sulu informed them, clearly keeping up with the conversation taking place behind him.

“Bring us out of warp on the far side of the planet, Lieutenant,” Spock ordered, striding down to his chair and taking a seat. “Shields up – red alert.”

There was a chorus of “ayes” as Sulu and Williams complied with Spock’s orders. Jim stumbled over to his usual science station and began to review sensor readings. 

“Arrival at Vulcan in five… four…”

Jim swung about in his chair as Sulu counted down their arrival. When the ship came out of warp, each member of the bridge crew gasped, Jim included. Several hundreds of kilometers away, the Hood and Challenger were taking heavy fire from a massive ship the likes Jim had never seen before. Reports from the Kelvin disaster hadn’t done it justice – it was the stuff of nightmares, resembling a Portuguese Man o’ War with hundreds of razor-sharp tentacles.

“Sir, the Hood’s hull has been breached and they are in danger of a core failure,” Williams reported. 

“Take us in, Mister Sulu – draw the Romulan’s fire from the Hood if you can,” Spock ordered. “Prepare to fire all weapons on my mark, Commander Williams.”

Sulu did just that, speeding to the crippled ship’s aid. As soon as they were within range, Spock gave the order to fire. Jim chanced a look and saw several torpedoes arc off towards the alien vessel. They exploded on the outer tentacles, causing damage, but not enough to affect the ship in any way. Williams and Chekov followed this up with a barrage of phaser fire. It made no dent on the enemy ship, but as Jim’s instruments confirmed, the Hood was able to limp further away.

“Sir, the Romulans are locking torpedoes.”

“Evasive maneuvers, Sulu – take us beneath the Romulan.”

“Brace for impact!” Williams warned, and Jim did just that – there would be no more flying across the bridge for him.

The impact of their attacker’s torpedoes was horrific – they appeared to easily pierce the Enterprise’s shields, exploding along the hull in a bright flash that was visible even across the viewscreen of the bridge. 

“Sir, the Hood’s warp core is reaching critical,” Chekov reported.

“Shields at 32%, we can’t take another hit like that,” Sulu followed up.

“Contact Starfleet Command,” Spock said over his shoulder to Uhura.

“Core breach on the Hood within one minute,” Chekov said.

“Bridge to transporter control – we must attempt to rescue some of their crew,” Spock said.

Jim’s hands flew over his instruments as he read and interpreted the crazy data they were showing him. “Captain, the Romulan ship has lowered some kind of high energy pulse device into the planet’s atmosphere. Its signal appears to be blocking communications and transporter abilities.”

“No, no, no,” Uhura was saying, trying desperately to hail the Hood. A moment later, the ship exploded from within, its engineering section shearing off entirely. The enterprise rocked with the force of the other starship’s destruction, and Sulu struggled to compensate with thrusters.

“They’re locking weapons onto us again.”

“Divert auxiliary power to forward shields,” the Captain ordered.

“We can’t take another hit,” Sulu reminded them.

“We do not appear to have another choice, Lieutenant,” Spock reminded him.

Seconds ticked by and nothing happened.

“Sir, we’re being hailed,” Uhura announced with shock in her voice.

Spock turned around for a moment to look at her, and Jim could see the determined set of his jaw. “On screen.”

All eyes were on the main viewscreen as the distorted image of a Romulan man came into view. Jim knew that Romulans and Vulcans had a common ancestry, but this man looked nothing like the calm, dignified man that was the Captain. On the contrary, he was very rough-looking, the myriad of facial tattoos that decorated his face highlighted his alien features, making him look fierce and cruel. A gleam of pure hatred shone in his eyes. If Jim weren't high on adrenaline and fear, he’d have been awestruck for a moment.

As the Romulan appeared to be.

“Spock!” the Romulan exclaimed. You - _you_ command the Enterprise?”

Spock sat up straighter in his chair, squaring his shoulders and spreading his arms so that his wrists each rested on its arms. He tilted his chin up as he replied, “Pardon me, but I do not believe you and I are acquainted, sir.”

“We are not, not yet. I am called Nero.”

“Captain Nero, through your actions today you have declared war on the Federation. Withdraw and I’ll agree to arrange a conference with the Romulan leadership at a neutral location –“

“I do not speak for the Star Empire, we stand apart,” Nero practically growled. He paused, looking Spock up and down, a look that sent icy sweat dripping down Jim’s back. “ _Captain_ Spock, your transporter capability is disabled. _You_ will man a shuttle and come aboard the Narada for negotiations.

Jim wondered how Spock could go so long without blinking. “Why should I board your vessel at all – recent history indicates you will only kill me.”

“True, but then you will never know why, will you? There is something I would have you see, Spock.”

Spock stared at Nero for several seconds, considering. “Give your assurances that you will not destroy this ship, and I will come.”

“Assurances? I should blow you out of space just for suggesting it.”

“Then you will not achieve that for which you came. You will not be able to show me what you feel I must see.” 

Nero laughed, ugly and mocking. “I should know better than to try to bargain with a Vulcan. Very well, you have my word of honor that I will not destroy your ship while you live.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“Captain, no!” Jim exclaimed, surging to his feet. Nero’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked Jim up and down. Jim wasn’t sure about Romulans, never having met one, but the expression on Nero’s face looked like recognition.

“Leave your _kelek-aushfa_ behind and come alone. Nero out.”

The transmission cut out and the viewscreen resumed its view on the Narada, looming like a vast, terrifying spider in the distance.

Williams was the first to speak, “You can’t go, sir, he’ll kill you for sure.”

“Captain, we gain nothing from diplomacy,” Jim added. “Going over to that ship is a mistake.”

“Please reconsider,” Williams added.

“I need three officers with combat experience,” Spock said in a loud voice, cutting them all off.

“I have training, sir,” Sulu said, raising his hand.

“You can count on me, Captain,” came a familiar voice from the back of the bridge. Jim turned to see Jon standing there at parade rest. Whenever a red alert was called, security officers who were cross-trained at tactical were stationed on the bridge in case their presence was necessary – today, it was Jim’s roommate’s turn. Williams turned too, and Jim saw her clench her jaw. 

“You will both come with me. Commander Williams, Mister Kirk, you will accompany me as well.” Spock strode over to the turbolift. “Chekov, you have the conn.”

“What did Nero call me?” Jim asked Uhura as he passed her.

“ _Kelek-aushfa_ \- it’s Vulcan for ‘pet,’” she replied.

\----

“Without transporter capabilities, we cannot beam off the ship, and we cannot assist Vulcan.” Spock was striding down the corridor that led to the main shuttle bay, Williams, Hendorff, Sulu, Olson, and Jim trailing in his wake. “My intention is to create an opportunity: Mr. Hendorff, Mr. Sulu and Mr. Olson will space-jump from the shuttle, landing on the Romulan machine that is scrambling our communications and transporters, and disable it.”

Jim noted the look Hikaru and Jon shared – one of awe at the sheer audacity of the idea, but also of concern for their own safety. He couldn’t say he blamed them.

“Commander Williams,” Spock went on, “I am leaving you in command of the ship. Once we have transport capability and communications restored, you will contact Starfleet and report the situation as we have found it. While we will want the support of the fleet in defeating the Narada, they must know of the enemy’s weapons capabilities. If all else fails, you will fall back and rendezvous with the primary fleet in the Laurentian system.” 

“Aye, sir,” she replied. 

By now, they had reached the shuttle bay and Spock paused at its entryway., turning to address them all. “Mister Kirk, I am promoting you to First Officer in my absence. You will serve Acting Captain Williams quite well, I am certain.”

“Wait – what?” Jim asked, suddenly dismayed.

“While I am gone, the chain of command must be preserved, and I already know that you two will work well together.”

Jim swallowed his protest and nodded, trading glances with Yvonne.

“What will you use to disable the Romulan machine?” Williams asked the three men who were about to space dive to the planet. 

Olson hefted a bag he carried. “I’ve got all the charges here. I’ll carry them down.”

“Aw, hell no,” Williams practically shouted. “You have about a snowball’s chance on Vulcan of hitting that thing at this range – you will all take charges, is that clear?”

“Yes, Commander,” Olson said, chastened. She raised an eyebrow. “Captain,” he amended.

Spock, Williams, and Jim walked over to the shuttle, while the three men who would make the dive to the planet collected their suits and helmets from a crewman. They were about to head up the steps into the shuttle when Williams caught Hendorff by the wrist. Neither of them said anything, they merely gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment, but Jim thought they managed to communicate whatever they needed to each other. Jon was the last to board.

Spock stood in the doorway of the shuttle and looked over at Jim. He held Jim’s gaze for a long moment, his dark eyes inscrutable. Jim couldn’t look away.

“Sir, once we knock out the machine, what happens to you?” he asked.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “You will do what I have come to rely on you to do, Mr. Kirk,” he said as the shuttle door closed.

\----

Jim followed Williams out of the turbolift and onto the bridge, heading immediately for the science station. 

“Damage report,” Williams ordered, and all things considered, it might have been worse – while they had taken a few casualties and there’d been a near hull breach on Deck 6, their warp capabilities were unharmed. Shields were under repair and of course their comms were still down. 

Chekov, however, was able to track the signals of the transponders in the space suits of the three men who were about to make the space jump. Nearly everyone on the bridge who wasn’t actively monitoring something to do with ship operations was keeping an eye on the readout from their stations.

“Mr. Chekov, report,” Williams asked with a voice that was a lot calmer than Jim’s would have been.

“The shuttle is nearly in position to make the jump – they will need to pull their chutes as close to the target as possible in case the machine has its own defenses.”

There came a point when the shuttle was closest to the atmosphere where it almost looked like it slowed. At that point, the signals from the three jumpers went in a completely different direction from that of the shuttle.

“The Away Team is entering the atmosphere,” Pavel reported, and indeed, the three dots that represented them – red for Olson, blue for Hendorff, gold for Sulu, were plummeting swiftly on his monitor.

After a few minutes, Pavel began to call out their distance. “4,000 meters from target… 3,000 meters…” At 2,500 meters, both Jon and Hikaru’s dots slowed, indicating they’d pulled their parachutes. Olson’s however, did not. Nor did it slow at 2,000 meters, or even 1,500. At 1,000, it bounced, slowed somewhat, and then – as soon as it neared the target, it just disappeared.

“Olson is gone, ma’am!” Chekov reported breathlessly. 

“Acknowledged,” Williams replied tensely, her hands held in tight fists in her lap.

On Pavel’s monitor, the blue dot landed on the machine first, followed by the gold one; from this distance, it was impossible to discern if they were moving or not, but at least they were there. At least they were still alive, at least…

“Sulu to Enterprise, do you copy?”

A collective sigh of relief could be heard across the bridge.

“Yes, Mr. Sulu, we do,” Williams replied.

“We’ve managed to take out the communications array that was sending out the jamming signals. This thing, by the way, is some kind of immense plasma drill – they’ve been drilling a hole into the planet.”

Jim blinked at the revelation – why would anyone want to drill into Vulcan? While the planet held its share of mineral deposits, none of them were valuable enough to justify this kind of approach. It was highly unusual. He called the latest geological surveys of the planet – the region where the drill was activated did appear to be where the planet’s crust was at its weakest. 

“That much is clear, Lieutenant – very good job, thank you,” Williams replied. 

“Hey don’t mention it, Enterprise,” came Jon’s voice, breathless and wry, “but do you think you could beam us up now? It’s hotter’n hell even this far up – I can’t imagine what the planet surface must be like.

“Stand by, Mr. Hendorff.”

A sudden clang, followed by a shout could be heard over the comm link. “Romulans,” Jon muttered, and then went silent. 

“I’m picking up three non-human life signs on the drill platform, Commander,” Chekov reported needlessly, as there followed noises of a hand-to-hand skirmish, live and in perfect, high definition. 

Jim adjusted the sensors to zero in on the drill platform and sent them to the screens at tactical, the command chair, and to Chekov. The image was grainy, and relied mainly on the thermal signatures of the combatants, but who was who was soon very clear. Hikaru appeared to be fighting off one of the Romulans with a sword, while Jon was engaged in a losing fight with the other two Romulans. 

“Transporter room, get them out of there!” Williams shouted down her comm link.

After a pause, the voice of the on-duty transporter room operator came back, “I can’t get a good lock on them, Captain – we risk bringing up Romulans as well.”

Something flashed suddenly on Jim’s screen that had nothing to do with the battle taking place on the planet. “Red Matter Detected,” the now-familiar alert informed him, and he frowned at it. Splitting his screen, he called up his detection program to confirm. There, somewhere in the middle of the Narada herself, was a deposit of the material so comparatively vast to the mere particles he’d seen so far that he had to double check that the sensors weren’t misaligned.

“I don’t think I care about a couple of Romulans in my transporter room, Ensign,” Williams was barking down the communicator. “Have Security send six people to Transporter Room 2.”

The tactical officer relayed the order. “They’ll be in position in two minutes, Captain.”

Meanwhile, a loud yell that sounded like Hikaru’s voice came over the communicator. On-screen, he could be seen rolling over on the surface of the drill with one of the Romulans. He rolled to a stop, throwing the other man off of himself. The Romulan came to his feet two meters away, but a sudden blast of heat appeared – an exhaust vent for the drill? – and engulfed the Romulan, killing him instantly.

The fight was two-on-two now, but before Hikaru could even get over to Jon, he’d thrown one of the Romulans he’d been fighting over his shoulder and off of the platform. Unfortunately, he appeared to over-balance, and before he could right himself, the second Romulan pressed the advantage, sending Jon over the edge. Jim gasped as he fell, but Jon managed to catch hold of the edge of the platform and dangled there crazily. The Romulan who’d thrown him advanced, smashing his foot down at Jon’s hands. Just when it looked like Jon couldn’t get away, though, Sulu was on the Romulan, running him through with his weapon, and throwing him off the edge of the drill.

“Jon! Hold on!” Sulu panted, and Jim could see him get down on his knees, extending a hand.

“I can’t! I –“ Jon’s grip on the drill platform failed and he fell.

“JON!” Hikaru yelled. “Enterprise, Enterprise! You have to beam Hendorff up – his chute was damaged when we landed. Repeat – he doesn’t have a chute!”

“TRANSPORTER ROOM!” Williams shouted into the comm, “TELL ME YOU HAVE A LOCK!”

“I don’t ma’am, he’s moving too fast!”

“JON!” 

“I can _do_ zat!” Chekov blurted, standing up suddenly from his station. He held both hands up to Williams. “I can do zat! I can do zat!” he said excitedly and then ran from the bridge. Seconds later, his voice came over the open comm from the transporter room, “I can save him! Give me manual control!” 

There followed a tense interval… one… two... three seconds passed.

“Enterprise!” Hikaru shouted.

“Hold on! Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Chekov chanted.

“Now, Enterprise! Now!”

And finally, “I GOT YOU!” Chekov shouted. Literally every person on the bridge gasped as Hendorff’s rapidly falling body disappeared from the sensor readings.

“I got him,” Chekov said again, his voice wavering.

Jim glanced over at Williams. She was listing somewhat to her right, breathing irregularly, and Jim could see she was shaking. “Good job, Pav,” Jim said to Chekov over the comm. “Let’s bring Sulu home now, too, huh?”

“Da, da, da. I mean, yes sir.”

Jim collapsed back against his own chair, the relief sweeping over him making him light headed. But then another alert on his display caught his attention. “Red Matter Detected,” it reminded him. When he investigated further, he saw that it wasn’t the original alert, but for a second quantity, one much smaller, which was now moving quickly down to the planet’s surface along the umbilicus from which the drill was suspended, its origin the Narada herself. 

With the swiftness of thought, three things occurred to Jim. The intensity and quality of the reaction of the red matter to their torpedoes earlier that day. The Romulans’ use of a plasma drill to bore a hole into the center of Vulcan. The missile carrying a quantity of red matter that was now about to enter the atmosphere of the planet below. All of it clicked and made the kind of sense that was ultimately unspeakable.

“They’re trying to destroy the planet!” Jim concluded, and surged to his feet. Running across the bridge, he body-checked the man who’d been stationed there away as his hands flew over the controls. “Torpedoes! Locking on now!” He began to fire haphazardly at the missile the Romulans had launched.

“Kirk – what the?” Williams asked, rising and approaching him.

“We have to take out that torpedo, Captain – with the amount of red matter in its payload, it’ll destroy the planet, trust me.”

“I trust you,” she said, moving in beside him. She eased her own hands onto the controls, and Jim moved away, letting her – in addition to being its First Officer, she was the ship’s chief tactical officer, and if anyone could hit that missile and take it out of commission, it was her. 

Seconds later, a photon torpedo she’d launched finally hit the Romulans’ missile, destroying it utterly. The resulting explosion was vast, and took out the umbilicus of the drilling platform, severing it from the Narada, and sending the drill hurtling to the planet’s surface.

“Helm, take us in closer – if they launch any other missiles, we will be there to destroy them,” Williams ordered. 

Sorkin, Hikaru’s relief at helm, complied, and the Enterprise swung into position on impulse power. 

There followed a brief and tense few moments as the Enterprise squared off with the Narada. Suddenly, somewhere off their starboard side, four additional Starships arrived, taking up defensive positions between the Narada and the planet.

Without a word or a warning, Narada turned and disappeared inside a warp field. 

“That’s it? They just – they just leave?” Jim said, incredulous.

Williams shrugged and gave him a look that said, “Don’t look at me.” 

“Captain, we’re being hailed by a Federation outpost on the nearby planet of Delta Vega. They say it’s urgent.”

Williams sighed. “Of course it is. What do they want?” 

“It’s audio only.”

Williams indicated that Uhura should play the transmission aloud. 

“Hello? Hello there!” said a voice with a thick Scottish accent. “Is that the Enterprise then?”

“This is acting Captain Yvonne Williams of the USS Enterprise. To whom am I speaking?”

“Montgomery Scott, ma’am.”

“Are you Starfleet?”

“Yes, ma’am. And forgive me for saying it, but you lot are a sight for sore ears if you know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I don’t, Mr. Scott. Did you have a request? We’re a little busy up here.”

“Ach aye, I know. But listen, there’s a chap down here says he needs to be beamed up to see ya. He’s very adamant about it.”

“Oh really?” Williams sounded annoyed. Jim could see she was on the verge of losing her temper. 

“Aye. Says he needs to talk to ya about a Romulan named Nero. Sounds like a bad character, if you ask me.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Scott. Does this man have a name?”

“It’s all very mysterious. If you could just beam us up, we can work it out, eh?”

Williams sighed. “Very well.” She gestured at Uhura. “Tell the Transporter Room. Kirk, you’re with me. Uhura, you have the conn.”

\----

Jim and Williams arrived at Transporter Room 2 a minute later, where Jon and Hikaru were still to be found, an emergency medical team surrounding them to assess injuries. They looked the worse for the wear – the left side of Jon’s face was battered and bloody, and Hikaru was bleeding freely from his nose.

“Jon,” Yvonne said to him, pausing in front of him.

“I’m fine,” he assured her over the heads of the corpsman who was checking him out.

“Three to beam up,” Chekov reported. 

Jim strode over to stand beside him. “Energize,” he ordered.

The transporter pad began to glow as three figures began to materialize on it, two the size of a full-grown human, the other about half that size. When their forms resolved, Jim saw that one of them was human, the shorter one was – Jim thought he was a Roylan, but couldn't be certain – and the third was an elderly Vulcan. 

“Welcome to the Enterprise,” Jim said, feeling like he ought to say _something_ to these folks, it was only polite.

The Vulcan took a step forward, his mouth open in astonishment. “James T. Kirk,” he said. 

Jim paused – he was about to say something else. “You know my name?”

“I have been and always shall be your friend,” the Vulcan responded slowly.

Jim was confused – aside from his Captain, he’d never met another Vulcan. “Do I know you?”

The aged Vulcan cocked his head to the side in a gesture that was… almost familiar. “I am Spock.”

“Jeez oh Pete!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~If anyone knows what Keenser’s species is, let me know and I’ll update this – Memory Alpha had nothing.~~ Got it - he's a Roylan. Thanks drjamband!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to save Spock. And oh yeah, Earth.

“Is ‘Spock’ like a really common name on Vulcan or something?”

“No.”

“Surely there’s more than one, though.”

“That is statistically likely.”

“So you’re saying you’re _a Spock_ , not the Captain?”

“ _I_ am the Captain? Not you?”

“No, _Spock_ is the Captain, but he’s a hostage on Nero’s ship. I’m just a random Science Officer.”

“You’re the acting first officer, Jim,” Yvonne called out to remind him.

“Oh yeah. And that.”

“I think I require a lie-down,” the elderly Vulcan stated, and seemed to sway on his feet.

Jim rushed forward to take the man’s arm and helped him down from the transporter pad. He clutched at Jim’s arm with both hands for a moment.

“There’s a conference room nearby…” Jim offered.

“Yes thank you.”

Jim led the old man out of the Transporter Room and across the corridor to the conference room, where he helped him to a seat. The Vulcan sank back against the chair back with obvious relief, and Jim hovered over him. “Can I get you something? Some water?”

The Vulcan merely stared at Jim’s face, as if trying to memorize it. At last he spoke, “It is remarkably pleasing to see you again, old friend. Especially after the last day’s events.”

“You mean with Nero and everything. Yeah, that was a close one.” Jim rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and straightened up. “But I don’t know you, so you’ll have to forgive me –“

“No apology is necessary where no offense is taken.”

Jim smiled at him. “OK then.”

“And it is you who must forgive me, for making assumptions where I had no objective proof. I had thought that things would be much the same in this timeline, and I was wrong. You wear Science blues.”

“I’m an astrophysicist. What do you mean, ‘this timeline’? Where are you from?”

The old man stood and took a step towards Jim, his right hand extended toward Jim’s face. Jim moved away, squinting suspiciously at him. “Whoa, what are you doing?”

“Please, allow me,” the Vulcan said wearily. “It will be easier – our minds one and together.”

Jim had read about mind melds, of course, though he had never thought he’d be on the receiving end of one. But this man looked at him with such kindness in his eyes that he immediately felt he could trust him. He reached up and removed his glasses, the old man’s eyes following the motion with interest.

“You wear glasses,” he observed.

“Only to see with.”

The Vulcan shook his head, dismissing it, then raised his hand again. His fingers connected with certain points of Jim’s face with practiced ease, and he closed his eyes, murmuring, “My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts…”

Jim gasped as he felt – _actually felt_ – the presence of another’s mind within his own. It was not wholly unpleasant, not as he’d always feared, and there was no rooting around within his private thoughts or memories, at least as far as he could tell. He had always feared that might happen when he’d read about this. Instead, there was the undeniable presence of another’s personality, one Jim at once understood he could trust, and that put him at ease. He also felt a kind of fondness from the other man he had not expected, giving credence to his claim of their being “old friends.” It was a feeling that both warmed and excited him, and he at once knew that this man was, incredibly, who he claimed to be.

 _What’s going on, Spock?_ Jim thought, and was amazed to hear an echo of it resounding around himself, as if he stood in a vast hall with great acoustics.

 _I have initiated a light meld so that I might share with you my journey,_ came another voice. Spock sounded like he was at once right next to Jim and far away. Jim tried to look for him but didn't see him. He soon realized that the reason for this was he was now suddenly residing _within_ the other man’s memories.

_One hundred and twenty-nine years from now, a star will explode and threaten many neighboring systems. That is where I am from, Jim – from the future._

Jim saw this star suddenly, through the viewport of a spaceship, and averted his eyes from the bright light. A planet suddenly came into view.

_I promised the Romulans that I would save their planet. We outfitted our fastest ship._

Jim saw Spock in conference with a Romulan delegation, then saw him aboard a sleek and gleaming spacecraft. At the center of an inner chamber on the vessel there was a large containment vessel, and suspended within it a large sphere of a red substance, perhaps a meter or more across.

_Is that red matter?_

_You are familiar with it, Jim?_

_Well, yeah, I – I’ve been tracking it for months now. We were trying to collect some when the call went out from Vulcan._

Jim could feel Spock chuckle.

_I ought not to be surprised at your ingenuity in finding it. Though it would defy collection except under very specific lab conditions._

_Lab conditions?_ Jim came to a disappointing conclusion. _It’s not naturally-occurring, is it?_

_It is a derivative of trilithium discovered by Doctor T’Vana at the Vulcan Science Academy ten standard years prior to the situation with Romulus. It is highly dangerous._

_Then how did it get here?_

_Allow me to show you._

The scene changed, and Jim saw that Spock was using some sort of injection device to extract a droplet of the red matter from containment.

_Using red matter, I intended to create a black hole which would absorb the exploding star. I was en route when the unthinkable happened. The star went supernova, destroying Romulus. I had little time – I had to use the red matter to end the supernova or risk the destruction of other worlds, other systems._

Jim held his breath as he watched it all unfold, the horror of a dying planet, all those lives snuffed out so suddenly.

 _As I began my return journey, I was intercepted._ Spock went on. _He called himself Nero, Last of the Romulan Empire. In my attempt to escape, both of us were pulled into the black hole._

Jim saw the vastness of the black hole before him, watched as everything within its event horizon swirled about before falling in, and felt nothing but dread. It was then he realized the true power of red matter, and exactly what Nero had meant to happen to Vulcan.

_Nero was the first to arrive. He and his crew spent the next twenty-five years awaiting my arrival. But what was years for Nero was only seconds for me. When I went through the black hole, Nero was waiting for me. He held me responsible for the loss of his world. He captured my vessel and spared my life._

Jim saw Spock on his knees before the tall Romulan, gazing up at him with infinite sorrow and compassion, but it was a sentiment Nero did not return.

_He spared me for one reason – that I would know his pain._

The scene changed to the ice planet Delta Vega where the Enterprise had picked up Spock and the other two men just minutes ago. Spock stood on the edge of a crevasse and gazed up at the planet Vulcan, a feeling of fear and trepidation consuming him.

_He wanted you to watch Vulcan be destroyed._

_Yes, Jim. But it was not._

Jim reflected on the events of the last few hours, and suddenly the scene changed from Delta Vega to the Enterprise’s shuttle bay. Captain Spock was standing in the entryway and promoting Jim. Next, he saw Jon and Hikaru’s heat signatures as they fought Romulans on the drill platform, and finally, Jim’s quick thinking in recognizing the missile from the Narada for what it was. Jim realized he was sharing the memory with Spock and it felt as natural as breathing.

_You saved Vulcan._

_I had a lot of help._

Jim was aware of Spock’s amusement even as he heard the old man’s chuckle, and then the meld was over.

He looked up at the taller man, and his awe at the meld experience was suddenly overwhelmed by feelings of want and sadness that brought tears to his eyes. He swiped them away and put his glasses back on, looking up at Spock with a bewildered expression on his face.

“Forgive me, emotional transference is a side effect of the meld.”

“You’ve lost everything, haven’t you?” Jim breathed.

“I am a man out of time,” Spock agreed.

Jim wiped another tear from his face. “Going back in time, you changed all our lives.”

Spock set his mouth in an apologetic line.

A thought occurred to Jim. “Where you came from – did I know my father?” he asked quietly.

“Yes. You often spoke of him as being your inspiration for joining Starfleet. He proudly lived to see you become Captain of the Enterprise.”

“Captain?”

“And I was your first officer.”

Jim couldn’t wrap his brain around that, so he chose not to.

“Regardless, you must catch up to Nero before he has the chance to exact his vengeance on the rest of the Federation. This is his stated goal.”

“Me? But you’ll help, right?”

“No, Jim. My presence here has already changed too much. I must remain out of sight until such time as you can return me to Vulcan.”

“But you can help – with the red matter and getting you – I mean Captain Spock – back. Right?”

Spock shook his head. “Under no circumstances can he be made aware of my true identity. You must promise me this.”

“You’re telling me I can’t tell you about… you? Why not?”

“I would imply that certain universe-ending paradoxes might result, but I suspect you would know I am prevaricating. Suffice to say it will be good for you both to work together, to understand what is truly possible when you work side-by-side.”

“OK? I guess?” Jim said, but he didn't really have a choice at that point, as the older man left the room.

Jim followed Spock across the corridor and back to the Transporter Room where Jon was arguing with a medic about whether he ought to report to sickbay, and Williams was speaking with the Scottish man who’d beamed over with Spock.

“So you say your Chief Engineer’s snuffed it?” he said.

“I don’t think I would have put it quite that way,” Williams answered with a frown.

“Still, ye’ll need a replacement – may I respectfully offer my candidacy?”

“I barely know you.”

“Mr. Scott comes highly recommended,” Spock supplied. “You will find his engineering knowledge and abilities beyond compare.”

“I barely know _you_ , sir,” Williams said to Spock, though with a good deal more respect.

“I’ll vouch for him, ma’am,” Jim said. “This man is a, um, uncle –“

“Ambassador, actually,” Spock interrupted Jim.

“Very respected. On Vulcan.” Jim added.

“So then, I’ll just nip down to Engineering, shall I?” Scott said.

Williams, her face thunderous, opened her mouth to answer, but Jim interrupted her, pre-rant. “Wait. We need to talk about our next move, Captain. And we haven’t got any time to waste.”

“What’s to talk about? Our orders just came through from Starfleet – we are to remain here and defend Vulcan against possible future attacks. The rest of the fleet is to meet in the Laurentian system until a plan can be made to track down and neutralize Nero and his ship.”

“No, we have to go after him,” Jim said urgently. He glanced over at Spock. “The Ambassador has shared some information with me that is of vital importance to the safety of Earth – we need to have a meeting with senior staff and formulate a plan.”

“I don’t have time for this, Kirk,” Williams said, glaring at Jim.

Jim straightened his shoulders and returned her gaze evenly; he did not dare look away.

Williams rolled her eyes with a mighty sigh, then pointed at Scott. “You head down to Engineering and see about repairing the radiation leaks down there.” She pointed at Spock. “And you – I’ll send a yeoman to find you quarters, Ambassador. And you,” she pointed at Jim. “You’re coming with me to the bridge.”

Jim turned and followed her to the lift. As he went, he heard Scott marveling, “That is one fine, strong woman.”

“Get your own,” Jon said before the lift doors slid shut.

\----

“OK, Mr. Kirk, you have our full attention,” Captain Williams said, crossing her arms and taking her usual seat just to the right of the head chair at the conference table.

Jim rose from his own seat and straightened his shirt, then moved to the front of the room. He turned and looked back at the assembled senior command and bridge crew and rested his hands on the back of the chair at the head of the table – the one usually occupied by Captain Spock. Everyone had left it empty by some silent agreement.

“We need to break orbit as soon as we can and go to Earth. It is my belief that Nero is on his way there, and he intends to destroy the planet as he tried to do with Vulcan.”

“What leads you to that conclusion, Lieutenant?” Williams asked.

“Nero is on a mission to exact revenge in retaliation for the destruction of Romulus.”

“Destruction of Romulus?” Williams asked.

“Romulus-Romulus?” Uhura said.

“I think if it were destroyed we’d know it, Jim,” Bones said kindly.

Jim sighed – this wasn’t going as smoothly as it had in his head. So he activated the large display at the front of the room, took up a stylus, and began drawing. He diagrammed Romulus’s solar system, the reaction of the red matter with the exploding star’s mass, the resulting black hole and the wormhole it created. He showed them how the Narada emerged on the day of the Kelvin disaster, then returned to wait for the Ambassador’s ship, and ended with Nero’s failed attempt at destroying Vulcan.

“He’s hell bent on revenge against the Federation, who he holds responsible for the destruction of his planet,” Jim concluded. “He started with Vulcan as a way to punish the Ambassador, and what better way to continue than to strike at the planet that’s the very heart of the Federation?” Jim didn't add that, as a half-human, the loss of Earth would hurt Spock nearly as much as Vulcan, and that present-Spock would have a front row seat to Nero’s revenge.

“So what would an angry future Romulan want with Captain Spock?” Bones asked.

“As Captain, he does know details of Starfleet’s defenses,” Sulu pointed out.

“But Earth’s much better protected,” Uhura countered.

“Sure, there’s the outer defensive grid at Saturn, but if he can blow past that, if he somehow gets the codes from the Captain and can get to Earth? With the kind of advanced weapons we’ve seen, the planet would be a goner.”

The room went silent as the information sank in. Romulans were known for their ruthless treatment of their prisoners, and no one wanted to think about what their Captain might be going through at this very moment.

“We have to get Spock back,” Jim said. “And not _just_ because he’s our Captain.”

Everyone looked at him with grim faces.

“It’d be a good enough reason for me,” Bones muttered, and nearly everyone in the room nodded in agreement.

Jim looked to Williams, whose brow was furrowed with concern as she held his eye. She stood, leaned across the table, and activated a comm link. “Williams to Engineering. Mr. Scott, how soon can we be ready to go to warp?” she asked.

\----

An hour later, Jim stood on a transporter pod, nervously checking and rechecking that his phaser was charged. Yvonne stood with Jon in the corner of the transporter room, stealing a last kiss. He averted his eyes and they landed on Uhura, who stood so still and straight on the pod beside him that Jim thought her legs might snap. She chewed a thumbnail and was muttering under her breath.

“We’ll get him back, I promise,” he said, wanting to reassure her.

“Hmm? What? Sorry – I was practicing common Romulan verb conjugations.”

“I said we’re going to bring the Captain back,” Jim repeated.

She stared at him blankly.

They’d come out of warp behind Saturn’s moon, Titan, so that the magnetic distortion from the planet’s rings would make the ship invisible to the Narada. Little did they expect the Romulans to have already blown past the Sol system’s outer defenses, but they had, and Narada was already in a geo-stationary orbit over Earth. The Romulans had just begun to lower another of their massive drilling platform into the atmosphere, and Jim fully expected that they’d be able to begin drilling into the outer crust of the planet within the next half hour. Earth’s crust was thinner, her mantle less dense than Vulcan’s, so time was of the essence.

The wreckage of multiple smaller space-faring vessels sent to defend Earth littered the space around Narada; the rest of the primary fleet was en route from the Laurentian System, but they were at least an hour out – an hour they did not have.

The massive ship had had to lower her shields to allow the drill’s umbilicus through, and their mission was to take advantage of that to try to capture the remaining red matter that was housed on Ambassador Spock’s ship, and to bring their own Spock home.

“I thought that was the point…” Uhura replied, and went back to her muttering.

Jim glanced back over to where his roommate and his commanding officer had their arms around each other and cleared his throat.

“Sorry,” Yvonne said to no one and stood back from Jon. “It’s time.”

He nodded, words clearly failing.

“Listen, I want you to know that, whatever happens…”

“I know,” Jon said, unable to look at her.

But she went on anyway, “Tell Sulu if Enterprise has the tactical advantage, he needs to give the order to fire on that ship. Even if we’re still on board. That’s an order.”

 _“I know,”_ Jon replied, pain in his eyes. He would be the tactical officer on duty; if the order came, it would be him firing the weapons.

Yvonne turned and strode over to the transporter pod. “We’ll contact the Enterprise when we’re ready to be beamed back.”

Jon nodded.

“I’ll be back,” Yvonne said.

“You’d better be.”

“Okey dokey then,” Scott said from where he sat at the transporter controls, breaking the tension. “If there’s any common sense in the design of the enemy’s ship, I should be putting you somewhere in the cargo bay. Shouldn’t be a soul in sight.”

Williams nodded. “Energize.”

Jim barely had time to react before a red disruptor blast went sizzling past his head. Diving for cover, he winced as his still-bruised shoulder made contact with the large console he had made for. Ignoring it, he popped back up and risked a look around the corner of his hiding place. He didn’t see where Yvonne and Uhura had gone, but they clearly had gone left when he’d gone right.

Jim looked around to get his bearings. The space they were in appeared to be some sort of tactical area, with computer terminals set up at the edges. The lighting was dim, the atmosphere strangely humid and almost misty, and conduits and wires hung haphazardly around the place from the ceilings above. Half a dozen Romulans must have been working there, and it was they who began to fire upon the Away Team the moment they materialized.

The second Jim showed his head to get his bearings, four of the Romulans began to fire at him, and he drew his head back with a frustrated, “Yikes!”

He curled his fingers around his phaser and lifted it above his head, firing haphazardly in their direction without looking. One of them actually screamed, and then Jim heard what might have been the other ones running toward him. He took the lull in firing as they moved toward him as an opportunity to peek out around the corner of his hiding place.

“Jim, get down!” Yvonne yelled from somewhere behind and above him, and he immediately hit the deck. Her shots took out three more Romulans, or so Jim surmised from the sound of their bodies hitting the metal grids that made up the flooring of the Narada.

Jim got to his feet and looked behind himself. Yvonne had climbed onto a catwalk suspended above them, and was picking off the remaining enemies. A minute later she climbed half down, then jumped the rest of the way.

“Where’s Uhura?” Jim asked.

“She found a computer terminal,” she replied and led the way back to where Uhura was. It was hidden inside a small alcove, more or less out of sight.

“What have you got?” Jim asked her as Yvonne set herself up behind them, to cover if necessary.

“The interface is strange, it’s taking some getting used to…” she replied, though her hands flew confidently over the screens that appeared.

“Remember, you’re looking for someplace large enough to house a ship.”

“This is a mining vessel – it’s large enough to house a dozen ships!” After another few seconds, something on the screen lit up. “There!”

Jim looked at the display on which she had called up a detailed schematic of the Narada. He reached out to manipulate it, reducing the image so that the location of the ship could be mapped out. “I think we’re here,” Jim said, pointing at another spot on the screen, and Uhura nodded her head in agreement.

“Now let’s find out where they’ve got the Captain.”

There was a short, bark of a scream behind them and Yvonne stumbled backwards. She raised her phaser and shot twice in quick succession, taking out two more Romulans, but then stumbled backwards, spitting out a healthy stream of curses.

Jim turned around and stepped forward, catching her before she fell. “Yvonne!” He eased her onto the floor. “Mother pusbucket!”

She’d been hit by a disruptor blast to her left shoulder, and the wound was bloody and painful-looking. Her face was pale as she struggled not to cry out.

“Hang on, hang on,” he said, crouching over her. He removed his blue uniform tunic and balled it up, pressing it to the wound as hard as he could to stop the bleeding. She screamed, but kept her lips shut tight. Jim realized he was saying, “You’ll be OK,” over and over and had to literally bite his lip to stop himself.

“I found him!” Uhura said urgently, stepping aside and pointing so Jim could see.

The location where Spock was to be found was at the complete opposite end of the main part of the ship from where the Ambassador’s ship was located.

“We’re gonna have to split up,” Jim said. “The ship with the red matter’s closer. Take Captain Williams and head in that direction. I’ll go and find Captain Spock, then catch up to you.”

“We can’t split up – do you know the odds if we do?”

Jim positioned Williams’ hand over the tunic and encouraged her to hold it there, then stood next to Uhura. “I dunno – 4%, give or take? Captain Spock would probably have it worked out to the nearest hundredth of a percent, but I like to round up.” He lowered his voice to a near-whisper. “Look, it’s not like we have a choice. Williams is hurt – it’s not life threatening at the moment, but we can’t stay here, and we can’t leave her. She’ll never make it if we go all the way to find Spock and back again, not without becoming a serious burden. This is the only way.”

Uhura looked reluctant, but she clearly agreed, nodding. “Just – be careful, OK? All this derring-do isn’t exactly your strong suit.”

“Maybe I like it.” He stepped towards the doorway, phaser at the ready.

“Jim!” she said, and he turned, eyebrows raised in question. “It begins with an ‘N’.”

“What does?”

“My first name. Now you have to come back – if you’re ever gonna find out what it is.”

He should have probably given her a smile or said something funny, but his heart was beating too fast and he felt kind of nauseous. “Take care of each other.”

\----

The route to wherever the Romulans were keeping Spock skirted what seemed to be the cavernous chamber that made up a large portion of the interior of the ship. Jim couldn’t imagine why the space was so vast, but since this was supposed to be a mining vessel, he allowed that it could have been for the storage of ore or equipment. There were multiple terraces and bridges staggered the length and breadth of the space, probably for the docking of the equipment or storage of ore, but he thought the weight of it all would prove problematic for the ship’s structures. Then he realized that the ship was designed so that the antigrav field could be deactivated in these sections when they were full, saving on the stresses on the ship’s structural integrity as well as the power drain on the ship’s engines. He marveled at what kind of tech could allow for discrete antigrav fields, and then remembered that this ship was at least a hundred years ahead of the current technology.

He made his way through a large pipe, dank and fetid from years of disrepair, with his phaser at the ready. His awareness was amped to levels he hadn’t thought possible in himself; every small noise caught his attention. He moved with his weight distributed on the balls of his feet, to improve his reaction time. During all the training he’d done with Hendorff, he had always appreciated that his friend was making him a stronger, better fighter. But never had it occurred to Jim that it had also made him ready for a moment such as this. In his mind he had always cast himself as a scientist, not an adventurer, not a soldier – but now he knew different.

The pipe ended and he found himself in the midst of the huge chamber, adjacent to what appeared to be one of the many control or work centers scattered throughout. At the far side of it, a shadow against shadows, stood another Romulan.

For a moment, Jim thought it was Nero himself, but soon realized he was not. Like Nero and most of the other Romulans he’d seen, this man had a shaved head and a tattooed face, but he also had a snub nose that had clearly been broken numerous times. Though his eyes lacked some of his captain’s passionate intensity, he was as wary and canny as a Vulcan _le-matya_. He was clad all in black, with an overcoat made of some sort of animal hide that flapped dramatically around his legs.

Jim licked his lips and stared at him, mouth agape. “What are you supposed to be?”

“I am called Ayel,” the man replied in a low and guttural rasp.

“Does that mean ‘scary-sexy’ in Romulan, because I think your mom got it right.”

“My captain has told me about you,” Ayel said, ignoring him. He strode forward, closing the distance between them. “He recognized your face from Earth’s history.”

Jim ducked as the Romulan aimed a back-handed swipe at his head. He came up and hit back, hard, with a quick jab to the man’s throat. Ayel staggered back, eyes wide, but recovered quickly, catching Jim with a right cross that sent him flying.

Sure, Jim had been told that Vulcanoids were much stronger than humans, but as he pushed himself to his elbows and saw how far away Ayel now was, he was beginning to think that his academy instructors had understated it.

Ayel was on him before he was able to get up, his hands in Jim’s black turtleneck, pulling him to his feet. Whether it was poor construction or Romulan strength, the fabric couldn’t hold up to the abuse and tore away from the neck. Jim fell to the floor again. Frustrated, Ayel dropped to his knees, straddling Jim, his hands at his throat.

“James T. Kirk was supposed to be a great man,” Ayel said conversationally, as if they were having a leisurely beer in a bar somewhere and he wasn’t trying to throttle Jim to death. “He went on to Captain the USS Enterprise. But that was another life – another time. Soon you will suffer the end of your planet as we have.”

Jim’s right hand flexed, looking for the phaser he realized he no longer held. Instead, he brought both hands up between Ayel’s arms and pushed them outwards, breaking his hold on Jim’s throat. He twisted his body around and kicked out, pushing the Romulan off of him. Popping to his feet, he aimed a vicious kick at Ayel’s head and then staggered away, almost not registering where he was going. One glance around told him he’d headed out across one of the many bridges that spanned the ship’s interior. Below him was a similar outcropping. If he took a running jump, maybe…

The only thing going through Jim’s mind as he jumped was the certainty that he was going to make it.

So naturally, he didn’t.

His feet missed the bridge by less than a foot, his chest crashing into it with bone-crushing force. He threw his arms out desperately to catch himself, his bruised shoulder jarring painfully. He had no time to think about any of it, because his hands scrabbled desperately for purchase on the slippery surface and he was slipping, slipping. He was going to fall. The distance beneath him was unimaginable and he was going to fall.

He twisted his hips, found inner reserves of strength and was able to crawl his arms forward, but then the unthinkable happened – Ayel followed him. The Romulan landed in the middle of the narrow bridge, upright and on his feet, then turned to face Jim.

“Uhh…” Jim said, looking up at the enraged Romulan.

Ayel bent over and grabbed Jim by the throat again, lifting him up and into the air.

“Your species is even weaker than I expected,” he rasped.

Jim spluttered, struggling, his mouth working but no words came out.

“You can’t even speak,” Ayel mocked, but he eased back on the pressure a bit and Jim could breathe again. “What was that?”

“I got your gun!” Jim said, pulling the disruptor out of the Romulan’s holster abruptly and shooting him at point blank range. Ayel stiffened, his hands flexing open, and Jim felt himself falling again. He barely caught onto the edge of the bridge again before Ayel was falling sideways right past him, silently into the abyss below.

“Holy cats,” Jim coughed, struggling to climb back up onto the bridge. He was more successful this time, despite having just been nearly choked to death, but it was amazing what seeing someone else fall several hundreds of meters could do to one’s resolve.

When he finally made it up onto the bridge, Jim lay on his belly gasping like a landed fish, his vision tunneling and going nearly white for a moment. He had no time to pass out. He grabbed Ayel’s discarded disruptor then pushed himself to sit up and evaluated himself. His shoulder throbbed, his rib cage felt like someone had jabbed at it with a red hot poker, and his throat was an agony, but he could move, he could get up. So he did. It just took him a few minutes.

Thankfully, the area where Spock was supposed to be was not much farther away, and Jim encountered no more hostiles on his way. He was in a large chamber that looked like it might have once been a medical bay, strapped to a metal table. The floor was covered my more than an inch of water – the hallway outside had been as well – and Jim wondered what the hell was up with the ship’s environmental controls that this was allowed to occur. Normally, water was a closely conserved resource aboard a space-faring vessel, though perhaps the Romulans felt differently.

“Sir – Spock,” Jim said urgently as soon as he got close to Spock. He was, strangely, alone and unguarded, though currently unconscious. There were strange electrical burns at his temples, and his face was bruised and badly swollen in places – he’d clearly been beaten at some stage.

Jim reached over him to unfasten the straps that held him pinned to the table and felt the body beneath him stiffen. He looked over, not pausing in his efforts to free Spock.

“Jim?” Spock said, looking incredulous. “What are you doing here?”

Jim moved down to unfasten the two straps that bound Spock’s legs. “What you have come to rely on me to do,” he replied with a smile, helping him to sit up.

Spock looked like he might smile back, but then his eyes went flat and, with one fluid movement, he pulled the holstered disruptor out and shot at a target just behind him. Jim turned in time to see the Romulan who had discovered them fall to the deck.

“Nice shooting.”

“I have received the requisite training.”

Jim bent over and helped Spock off the table. He moved like it pained him, and he faltered when his feet hit the floor, so Jim took Spock’s arm and pulled it over his shoulder, slinging his own arm around his middle. “I got ya.”

“I believe you have.”

\----

They moved as quickly as they could back the way Jim had come, arriving in the docking bay where the strange ship Ambassador Spock had piloted was to be found. It stood with its gangway open, and again, there was no sign of any Romulans about. It was becoming clear to Jim that there could not have been that many crew on board if they’d been able to get this far. He decided not to question it.

Spock sank against him as they began to ascend the ramp up to the ship, and Jim paused to get a better grip on him. “Hang on to me, Spock,” he murmured, “Almost there.” Jim could feel the Vulcan’s heart beating faster under his hand as he squeezed him closer.

Once inside, Spock looked around. “I foresee a complication. The design of this ship is far more advanced than I anticipated.”

A computerized voice said, “Voice print and face recognition analysis enabled. Welcome back, Ambassador Spock.”

“Wowee, that's weird,” Jim said, feigning surprise as best as he could, but Spock was clearly perturbed.

“Computer, what is your manufacturing origin?” he asked.

“Star date 2387. Commissioned by the Vulcan Science Academy.”

“It appears that you have been keeping important information from me.”

Jim would have whistled tunelessly if Uhura hadn’t chosen that moment to appear.

“That’s the first reaction we’ve been able to get from it since we got here,” Uhura said, walking back to them. “Oh, Spock, you’re hurt,” she said, rushing toward him. She moved to his other side to try to help with him, but Jim tightened his grip.

“I’ve got it,” he said, then helped Spock over to a nearby seat. He groaned as Jim set him down. “How’s Yvonne?” Jim asked Uhura quietly.

“Cursing a blue streak,” she replied, but her eyes looked scared. _We have to get out of here,_ they seemed to say, and Jim couldn’t agree more. He strode toward the fore of the ship, pausing at the containment vessel of red matter. The amount of it was massive, its destructive capacity almost unthinkable. Shuddering, he kept moving, until he reached the pilot’s seat.

“We’ve been unsuccessful trying to get it to respond to any commands to pilot it. It seems to be encoded to only one person.”

“Well, luckily, we have him here with us,” Jim muttered, and walked back through the ship to get Spock.

Once he was settled in the pilot’s seat, the ship’s controls sprang to life under Spock’s hands. He pressed a button and the doors closed; moments later they were hovering above the deck, the mooring belts that secured the ship to the floor snapping.

“You'll be able to fly this thing, right?” Jim asked.

“Something tells me I already have,” Spock said ruefully as he familiarized himself with the controls.

“Maybe go back and find someplace to strap in?” Jim said to Uhura. She nodded and left. Jim took a position leaning against the wall.

“Will you not take your own advice?” Spock asked, glancing back at him.

“I’d rather be here with you.” Jim’s face heated up. “I mean, you know, because you need me. I mean… you know…”

“Yes,” Spock said, and this time he did smile.

The ship moved slowly forward, up and out of the docking area and then out through the main interior of the ship. As they flew through the cavernous ship, they were able to pick up more speed. Up ahead, Jim could see the trailing tentacles of the ship that gave it its terrifying appearance. Some of them obstructed their way; Spock found the phaser controls and blasted them. They flew apart easily – clearly the ship was still unshielded.

The ship picked up speed. More of the tentacles seemed to whip at them – clearly some sort of defense being put to use – but Spock blew through them with ease. Jim held his breath as they gained more speed and as more of the arms blocked their way, but at last they were free of the Narada, the ship shooting off into the vastness of space.

“There!” Jim said, pointing at the long umbilicus that stretched from the Narada through Earth’s atmosphere. Spock nodded and made for it, phasers firing. With a shower of sparks, the thing severed and the drill platform fell, spinning, into San Francisco Bay below. Spock then turned the ship around, speeding up to escape the planet’s gravity.

“We’re being hailed,” Jim said, pointing at a view screen set into the cockpit of the ship. Spock hit a button and Nero’s face swam into view.

“Spock, I knew I should have killed you when I had the chance!”

“I hereby confiscate this vessel in the name of the United Federation of Planets. I further order you to surrender your vessel immediately.” Nero’s face disappeared from the monitor.

Jim actually laughed. “You think he’ll go for it?”

“Clearly not,” Spock answered as the tactical display lit up with incoming missiles that had just been fired from Narada.

“Uh, Spock?” Jim said, leaning over Spock’s shoulder to read the display.

Spock, however, seemed more distracted by the ship’s features. “Fascinating. It would appear this ship is capable of transwarp speeds,” he commented casually, his hands moving deftly over the controls now.

“Oh yeah?” Jim asked, his eyes on the tactical display, which showed the Narada’s missiles swiftly closing the gap as they gained on them. “Think maybe you could figure it out before we explode?”

“I believe I will,” Spock said calmly and pressed another control.

Jim felt like he’d left his entire nervous system somewhere in orbit of the Earth. They remained at warp for seconds, then came out of it just as suddenly. “Where are we?” He took a note of their coordinates – they were well away from the Sol system. Jim stood up straight and breathed a sigh of relief, laughing as he took his glasses off to wipe the sweat off his face. “You sure know how to cut it close.”

“Not close enough, clearly,” Spock said with as near to a note of annoyance in his voice as Jim had ever heard.

Jim put his glasses back on and saw that the Narada had come out of warp right in front of them. “Well, golly.”

“Indeed.”

“What’s going on?” Uhura said, having come forward from where she’d been sitting. “Oh.”

The three of them stared at the Narada’s massive bulk looming in front of them.

“We cannot outrun them,” Spock said.

“If they fire on us, they’ll ignite the red matter,” Jim pointed out. “The resulting black hole will consume everything within a parsec, including them.”

“Then I guess we won’t have much more to worry about after that,” Uhura said.

“I have navigated us far enough from any habitable worlds that such an occurrence would not cause more harm than necessary,” Spock said.

“Then let’s take ‘em down with us,” Jim said quietly. “We can’t leave Nero free to wreak havoc and destruction throughout the Federation. This has to end here.”

The three of them looked at each other for a beat, then back out at Narada, who had just fired her weapons once more.

“Jim, do you realize what you’re saying?” Uhura asked.

Jim stared at the incoming missiles and swallowed.

“I think George Kirk’s son knows all too well what he is saying,” Spock said quietly. “Laying in a collision course.” A moment later, Spock brought the ship about and engaged their engines.

Narada’s missiles were now close enough to be seen with the naked eye, and the course they were on was taking them right into their path.

“Well, kids, it was nice knowin’ ya,” said a fourth voice. Jim glanced behind them to see Yvonne standing there, her shoulder in a makeshift sling fashioned out of her own uniform tunic.

Spock turned in his seat. “It has been an honor serving with you all,” he added. “No Captain could ask for a finer or more capable crew.”

"Same goes for me," Uhura said, tears in her eyes.

"Never did get that first name," Jim reminded her. "You said you'd tell me if I brought Spock back."

"It's Nyota, and I'm sure you know it already. I mean, anyone can look it up on the ship's roster."

Jim smiled - that had actually never occurred to him.

Suddenly, a proximity alarm sounded, making Spock spin around in his chair.

“It’s another ship!” Jim said excitedly.

“It’s the Enterprise!” Yvonne said, pointing out of the viewport.

Sure enough, the Enterprise had tracked them here, and came up behind them with all guns blazing. They made short work of taking out all of the torpedoes that had been fired, and took up a flanking position off their starboard side.

“We’re being hailed!” Uhura said.

“Spock to Enterprise,” the Captain said into the communicator. “Your presence here is fortuitous.”

“Way to underplay it, sir,” Sulu replied with a laugh. “Hang on and we’ll beam you out of there.”

\----

“Bones!” Jim called to his friend as he materialized back on the Enterprise. He struggled as Spock, who he’d held upright during transport, began to fall to the floor.

“I’ll take him,” Bones said as he took charge of Spock. He was joined by two nurses and another doctor, who went immediately to Yvonne’s side to help her as well.

“I gotta go,” Jim said, loath to leave either of them, but he was now in command of this ship.

“So go – we’ve got this, Jim.”

Jim ran from the Transporter Room and made it to the bridge in record time.

“Status report,” he ordered as he arrived, striding to the command chair to relieve Hikaru.

“The Wulcan ship has collided with Narada and the red matter has been ignited – there is a singularity now forming,” Chekov reported. “Narada vill be consumed vithin minutes.”

“Hail them now.”

“Aye.”

The ship’s view screen swam with the distorted image of the Romulan command bridge; Nero’s face soon came into view.

“This is James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise. Your ship is compromised. Your crew will never survive – we are willing to beam you all aboard to save you.”

“I would rather suffer the end of Romulus a thousand times,” Nero growled. “I would rather die in agony than accept assistance from you.”

“Then I am sorry that this is the end for you, Nero. We might have been able to help you. Knowing what we know, we have the time to save Romulus. If only you had come in peace.”

Nero uttered what Jim could only guess was a filthy curse in Romulan before the communication cut out.

The sight of the singularity consuming Narada was at once epic and terrifying. The ship struggled to pull free, but the gravitational forces being generated were too strong. It looked to Jim as if it was some giant space monster being born, only in reverse. He flinched as he saw the outer hull begin to buckle as it was crushed by the unimaginable forces within the black hole.

“Sulu, get us out of here,” Jim said, closing his eyes and sinking into the command chair.

“Yes, sir.”

Sulu brought the ship about and engaged the engines. Jim could hear them straining, but they didn't seem to be getting anywhere. “Why aren't we at warp?”

“We are, sir.”

Jim pressed a button on the chair. “Kirk to engineering. Get us out of here, Mister Scott.”

“You bet your arse, sir!”

“We need maximum warp.”

“We are caught inside the grawity well,” Chekov reported.

“Push it, Scotty, push it!”

“I'm giving it all she's got!”

Jim clutched onto the arms of the chair as the ship seemed like it was about to shake apart. Cracks appeared in the ceiling. “All she's got isn't good enough. What else have you got?”

Scotty seemed frantic. “If we eject the core and detonate... the blast could be enough to push us away. I can't promise anything though.”

The cracks now extended to the main view screen. Jim didn't want to think about the stresses the ship must be going through that were strong enough to crack titanium and transparent aluminum. “Do it! Do it! Do it!” he shouted.

A moment later, the ship’s engines gave a final, terrifying whine and then went completely silent as the five massive warp cells that made up their core power source were ejected into space. When they’d gotten far enough away, the screen in front of them whited out as they detonated, pushing the Enterprise before it on a vast wave of energy.

The ship shuddered and creaked as it was propelled forward. The arms of the chair dug into Jim’s hands as he clung to them and he took a second to glance around the bridge at the men and women now at his command. They would all die for each other, of that he had no doubt. He just didn't know if he ever wanted to be the man to ask them to do it.

Minutes later, the shaking stopped and Sulu announced that they were clear, they were safe. Around him, the bridge crew erupted in a round of cheers, but all Jim could do was sink back into the chair, exhausted.

“You did it, Keptin!” Chekov said, but then corrected himself. “Sorry, Lieutenant! Too many people in ze chair today.” He shook his head.

But something about what he said didn't sit right with Jim. He pushed himself out of the chair and put as much distance between himself and it as he could. “Never call me that again, OK?” he said to Pavel quietly.

\----

“What do you mean, you need a tow?” The usually mirthful blue eyes of Christopher Pike turned hard as he regarded Jim over subspace. Jim stood in Spock’s Ready Room, refusing to sit behind the desk.

“We have no warp engines, sir. At impulse, it’ll take us months to get back.”

“That ship is brand new – dammit, Jim, can’t we have nice things?”

Jim flinched, the movement jarring his ribs and making him utter a pained gasp. He stiffened and hugged his arms against his sides, which made him feel marginally better. “Sorry sir.”

Pike chuckled, and Jim saw that he had only been joking. “Don’t be, kid. You saved two planets today and billions of lives – I think it makes us even.”

“I’m not so sure it does,” he told his family’s old friend.

“I’ll buy you a puppy.”

“Promises, promises,” Jim said, and then laughed himself at the old joke. The first time Jim met Pike, he was visiting Winona to discuss Starfleet business. Jim, who was three at the time, apparently climbed into his lap and asked him for a puppy. Jim had no memory of the incident, but had been teased for it his entire life. Laughing made him wince, and so he had to stop.

“Are you OK?” Pike asked. “You don’t look OK.”

“Think I broke a rib or three.”

“Why aren’t you in sickbay then?”

“Someone’s got to command, it may as well be me.”

“It’s killing you, isn’t it?” Pike asked, amused. He had long encouraged Jim to consider the command track like his father had before him, but Jim knew his destiny lay in Sciences. “You’re good at this and it’s killing you.”

“My ribs are killing me. Maybe I will head to sickbay.”

“Say what you need to to shut me up, but you know I'm right.”

“Blah blah blah.”

\----

“Jeez Louise, Jim, you’ve got a cracked sternum – how are you even upright?” Christine Chapel, Bones’ scrub nurse, confidante, and chief enabler scolded Jim much more effectively than her boss ever could.

“’Jeez Louise’? You’re starting to sound like me,” he told her.

“Fuck you then, and lie down,” she ordered. She swung a bone-regenerator into view and Jim squirmed – he knew the treatment would feel almost as bad as the injury, making him ache in new ways.

“How’s the Captain?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

Unfortunately, it worked. Christine’s face fell into a grim expression. “Those Romulans did a real number on him – he’s about to go into surgery with M’Benga.”

Jim felt a stab of fear – he’d thought he’d left that feeling behind for once today. “How bad is it? I mean, he was walking earlier.”

“Nosey, nosey,” Bones said, suddenly appearing. He consulted Jim’s chart and frowned.

“Seriously, Bones, how bad is he?”

“Bad, Jim. He’s got massive internal injuries, but he’ll survive. Actually, he was more worried about you and Williams than he was about himself.”

“About _me_? I’m fine.”

“Have you seen yourself?”

Jim didn’t know whether to be affronted or not.

“They’re about to wheel him into surgery. I might be able to be convinced that, due to urgent ship’s business, our acting CO needs to confer with our Captain, if only briefly.”

“If I didn’t know you’d slug me, I’d kiss you, buddy.”

“Shaddup and come with me.”

Spock lay on his back in a biobed outside of the surgical suite, a thin sheet covering him from the hips down. He looked paler than usual, the dark brown bruises on his body where he’d been beaten by the Romulans a stark and sickening contrast. Jim didn’t want to think of the other tortures he’d gone through to get him to give up the security codes to the Earth’s defensive grids, but he couldn’t help it.

“Captain,” he said in a whisper because he didn’t trust his voice not to crack if he raised it.

He stirred and opened his eyes, looking up at Jim with a serene expression on his face. “Spock,” he said gently.

Jim smiled despite himself. “Spock.”

“It is good to see you are well, Jim.”

“Wish I could say the same, but Bones says they’re gonna patch you right up. How are you feeling?”

“They have administered many painkillers. I feel nothing. It is not unpleasant.”

“Well, don’t get too used to it – the ship’s waiting for you when you get back, you know.”

“You are in command – I have no need to be concerned about the Enterprise.”

“Don’t be too sure about that – I broke her.”

“I am sure it was necessary.”

Bones came in just then, two orderlies in tow. “We have to take him in now, kiddo.”

Jim nodded and looked back at Spock, his heart so full it was nearly choking him. “Listen, Spock, there’s something I need to tell you, something I’ve been trying to forget about, but I can’t.” He took a deep breath – confessions of love ought not to be made under such circumstances, but he had an irrational fear he wouldn’t get this chance again. He opened his mouth to speak.

Spock reached up then, pressing the first two fingers of his left hand against Jim’s lips, staring into Jim’s eyes as he silenced him.

And then Spock passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this one - it's been a fun ride, everyone - thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst. And smoochies

**FOUR WEEKS LATER**

“Jim!”

Jim sat in a tiny room just off the main hall of Starfleet HQ in San Francisco, nervously picking at his cuticles. “Mom – hey,” he managed to say before Winona had his head wrapped in a hug so fierce he thought he might smother. “So you were able to make it,” he said, looking up at her as he fixed his skewed glasses.

“Are you kidding me, I wouldn’t miss it for the world, baby. I told Barnett if he scheduled this before I could get a transport back he’d be picking Denevian sand fleas out of his short and curlies for the rest of his life.”

Jim colored. “That’s a colorful image.”

“Oh, Jimmy, I’m so proud,” she said, pressing her palm to his cheek. “I can’t believe you’ll be First Officer on the Enterprise. Your father would be so proud.”

“Would he?”

Her eyes sparkled with tears suddenly. “Like you would not believe. You’re so much like him, so much.” Her fingertips brushed over his jaw, where the bruises Jim had gotten during his fight with Ayel had nearly faded away. “He couldn’t take a punch either, you know.”

Jim snorted. “Oh, I’d say I took them pretty well. It was giving them back that was the problem.”

She looked him deeply in the eyes then, her own eyes intense. “You saved the lives of billions of people, Jim. Do you know what that means?”

He winced, uncomfortable, because he’d come to know what it meant pretty well. It meant the Kelvin Baby grew up to save the world. It meant no matter where he went these days, paparazzi hounded him, people wanted to buy him drinks or get into his pants or both, and he’d barely had a chance to think. It meant he’d finally lost any remaining vestiges of his privacy, and on top of it all Starfleet wanted to give him a medal today and parade him in front of everyone some more. 

“Apparently, it means a promotion and a commendation,” was all he could say

She began to chuckle. “I know you never thought you were special, Jim. I also know you were wrong. Let them have their ceremonies, and smile for all the cameras – you’ll be back in space before you know it.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell her he wasn’t sure if he even wanted that.

\----

The awards ceremony honoring the crew of the Enterprise was long and Jim spent it squirming against the tight and itchy collar of his dress uniform, squinting up at the stage from under the visor of his regulation hat. He always felt like an idiot in this getup, and the sun beating down on all their heads through the tall windows just made it worse. He wished he had some sunglasses and a cold drink. He licked his lips – and added lip balm to the list. 

It had taken nearly two weeks for the Enterprise to be towed back to spacedock, time that had been filled with debriefs and ship repairs, but mostly debriefs. Personnel from practically every civilian and military intelligence and security agency had descended on the Enterprise like locusts, until Jim was hearing himself deliver his story in his sleep. By the time they got back to Earth, he was exhausted, and only just recovering from the injuries he’d gotten during his fight with Ayel. Jim and the rest of the Enterprise crew were given two weeks’ leave, which he’d tried to spend quietly in his family’s apartment in San Francisco, but he’d been hounded by the media almost non-stop. He finally fled to his grandparents’ farm in Iowa, where he spent a week just reading and sleeping and ignoring literally everyone, including his friends. He’d thought the isolation would do him good, but now he felt out of sorts with everyone and everything. 

When he returned to San Francisco, it was to find orders to report to Admiral Barnett’s office at his earliest opportunity, where a promotion to Lieutenant Commander and an offer for the job of First Officer _and_ Chief Science Officer on the Enterprise were waiting for him. Williams was being promoted to Captain and given her own ship (and taking Jon with her as head of security), and since Doctor Prabhavati had already announced his intention to retire, both jobs were open and waiting for him, as reward for his bravery in action.

Jim was gobsmacked. He had no expectation of anything coming from his actions other than the safety of his crewmates and the protection of both Vulcan and Earth. Barnett had misunderstood this reaction as acquiescence, and so here he was, sweating and itchy, waiting for his name to be called.

“James T. Kirk,” Barnett intoned. 

Jim rose from his seat between Hikaru and Jon in the front row and made his way up the steps onto the dais, as his crewmates had done before him. It all felt surreal, like he was graduating from something, only he didn’t know what exactly. He stood next to Barnett, whose gloved hands fiddled with the velvet case of the medal he was about to present.

“Your inspirational valor and supreme dedication to your comrades is in keeping with the highest traditions of service, and reflect utmost credit to yourself, your crew and the Federation. It is my honor to award you with this commendation and a promotion to the rank of Lieutenant Commander, along with all duties and honors attached. Congratulations, son,” Barnett said.

Jim held his breath as Barnett pinned the medal to his chest, fully expecting the thing to prick him and wanting nothing in the world more than not to flinch. When it didn’t happen, he sighed with relief and shook Barnett’s extended hand. 

“Thank you, sir.”

“In addition, there is someone else who would honor your actions, Commander,” Barnett said, and gestured behind him.

Jim turned to find a regal-looking Vulcan crossing the dais. “Commander, may I introduce you to Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan,” Barnett said.

Jim swallowed the “Golly!” he was about to say and instead nodded. He was, of course, familiar with the Ambassador, and had long admired his efforts in striving for peace throughout the galaxy. The fact he was Spock’s father was not insignificant either.

“Commander Kirk, I present you with the Order of Surak, my people’s highest honor.” From somewhere within his robes, Sarek pulled a medallion that was threaded onto a long, broad ribbon. “For your actions, you have the unending gratitude of an entire people.” He placed the ribbon over Jim’s head and then stepped back. “And of an indebted father.” He raised his hand in the ta’al. “Live long and prosper, Commander,” he said.

Jim raised his hand in as good a ta’al as he could manage under the circumstances, and said, “Thank you, Ambassador.”

Sarek nodded imperceptibly and stood back, where he joined Captain Spock and the admirals and other dignitaries who had been seated upon the dais. Spock, whose eye Jim had been avoiding the entire day, raised an eyebrow at him, looking expectant. They had barely spoken since the Narada – not in private anyway – and Jim thought it was just as well. He’d been about to make an idiot out of himself and tell Spock he was in love with him, and the man had done him the favor of shutting him up. Now Jim could barely face him, and the intervening weeks had not made that easier. Jim left the stage.

Afterwards, there was a reception for the entire Enterprise crew, who celebrated as enthusiastically as a two drink maximum would allow. Jim found himself strangely unable to participate, and so wandered back inside the empty hall, seating himself in the middle of the last row.

“You do not join your crewmates in the celebration?”

Jim looked up to find the elder Spock standing over him, a kind expression in his eyes.

“I guess I don’t feel much like celebrating.”

“Because you do not intend to join them when the ship disembarks,” the old man said.

Jim looked up at him, amazed. “How did you know – I haven’t told anyone.”

“I have spent many years interpreting the moods of James T. Kirk,” Spock replied, and then seated himself beside Jim.

“You two were close, huh?” While he understood the science behind the alternate timeline the wormhole had created, Jim still found it difficult to assimilate the fact that a completely other version of himself had lived a full life already. Or later. Or something.

“We were,” he replied, but though his voice held a tone as if he wanted to elaborate, he did not.

Jim looked into his dark eyes, so familiar and yet not, and sighed. “I don’t know if I can do that. I don’t know if I even…” his voice trailed off and he shook his head, unable to give voice to his feelings.

Spock chuckled then, a deep and rheumy sound from within his chest. 

“You’re laughing at me?”

“I believe the human saying is, ‘I am laughing with you.’” Spock said. “You remind me of myself.”

“I find that very hard to believe.”

“And yet you do. Many years ago, at the conclusion of our mission, I separated myself from my own James Kirk, for reasons that were foolish and cost us both too much. It is one of the things I regret the most.” His voice trailed off and his eyes drifted until he was staring at the nearby wall, lost in thought. 

“But I don’t know that I’m cut out for this – for command, for running a starship.” Nothing had scared Jim more in his life than the knowledge that the fates of more than eight hundred crew rested on his ability to make a split decision. He shifted his body forward, draped his arms over the back of the seat in front of him, and rested his chin on his forearms. “I’m just a scientist.”

“And a natural leader.” Jim scoffed, but Spock rested a hand on his shoulder. “You only lack the self-confidence to admit to yourself what everyone already knows. What _he_ already knows.”

Jim turned to look into Spock’s eyes, searchingly, but the old man only shook his head, his hand now resting in his own lap. 

“Stay with the Enterprise, Jim, stay with Spock. Do not deprive yourself of the revelation of all that you could accomplish together. Of a friendship that will define you both in ways you cannot yet realize.”

 _Friendship,_ Jim thought, _can I ever really be friends with Spock?_

He wondered if too much had happened to allow it.

\----

Jim stood in the First Officer’s quarters on the Enterprise, staring at the small pile of his luggage and personal belongings and comparing them to the vastness of the space. The bedroom was about three times larger than the room he’d shared with Jon, and the living area was larger than that. There was a personal replicator set into the wall, what looked like a very comfortable couch and pair of chairs in the sitting area, and a large desk with a holographic computer interface built into it. The only concession to shipboard living was the fact he shared a bathroom with the adjacent cabin, which he knew belonged to Spock. 

Having done what he’d done, he was certain that any post would have been his for the asking, but he had finally decided to come to the Enterprise. He still wasn’t sure he belonged here, but it was his sense of duty that had ultimately made his decision for him. If he had been able to serve on board the ship with Spock for this long, he could make it work, no matter how much it hurt. And no matter how scared the idea of command still made him – there were people who had faith in him, and he had to trust in them as much as in his own abilities. 

He was about to start unpacking – a task which would probably take him only fifteen minutes – when there was a chime at the door.

“Enter,” he called out, feeling as pretentious as he possibly could; the doors on the lower decks where he used to live did not come with the voice command upgrade. He’d figure out what command to use that would feel right soon enough. He turned to greet whoever it was and felt his face heat up. “Captain Spock.”

“Commander Kirk,” Spock said, walking into the room so that the door would close behind him. “Are we back to addressing each other by our titles?”

“Are we?” Jim rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand – a nervous habit. “I suppose not. Sorry – it was a reflex.”

Spock seemed to relax marginally. “I have brought you a gift,” he said, holding out a large-ish box. “I am told such things are customary among humans when one has a dwelling in need of heating.”

“I think you mean ‘house warming,’ and I’m not so sure it’s supposed to count on a ship, but it’s still pretty nice.” Jim stepped forward to accept the gift. “It’s very kind of you, Spock.” He turned and went to the desk. “Shall I open it?”

Spock inclined his head. “Please.”

The wrappings were elegant and tasteful – Jim thought he recognized the logo of an exclusive department store in London – and inside was a flat, wooden box, which he opened. “A chess set.”

“I thought we might take up the nightly tradition of our games once more, once the ship disembarks.”

Jim ran his fingertips over the cool, duranium-plated pieces; the set was beautiful. “I would like that very much,” he said, and smiled when he realized he meant the words sincerely. 

“Then I am glad.”

Jim looked up at Spock, who stood in the same spot he’d occupied since arriving, his back straight and his shoulders held stiffly. 

“I am also gratified that you elected to accept your promotion and remain on the Enterprise. I am aware there was some reluctance.”

“Was I that obvious?”

“When you did not acknowledge the orders until last evening, it might have given a clue,” Spock said, his voice carefully neutral. “I was beginning to think my actions had offended you.”

“What? No, what makes you think that?”

“When I kissed you, you did not acknowledge the act. And in the weeks following, it seemed you were avoiding me. I could come to only one conclusion.”

He spoke more, said things about the potential harm to their interpersonal relationship and his hopes that they could maintain at least a professional friendship, but Jim’s brain was caught on one thing.

“You kissed me?” he interrupted. He looked at Spock, blinking like an idiot and with his mouth hanging open, but the words had been a shock.

It was Spock’s turn to blush, a thing Jim had never before seen, and the sage tint to his cheeks and ears was positively disarming. “I did. In the medical bay, before my surgery. Granted, I was under the narcotic influence of a heavy sedative, but I did, indeed, kiss you.”

“No, you shushed me.”

“’Shushed’?” Spock repeated the word as if it was distasteful, and stood even more stiffly, if that was possible. “I am afraid I am unfamiliar with this term.”

“Shushing? I dunno, it’s just – shushing. When you shush someone.” Jim demonstrated by holding his index finger up to his lips and breathing out a long, sibilant, “shhhhh.”

“I see. It is an extremely silly word.”

“It is onomatopoeic.”

Spock blinked. “It is silly. And inaccurate. I kissed you – in the Vulcan way – I did not intend to silence you. I came here to apologize for the apparent harm it has done to our friendship, because although I have for some time harbored deep feelings of regard and affection for you, I do not wish for those to interfere with our prior understanding. It would be unfortunate for that relationship to suffer due to my unwanted advances, and I regret if my actions have made you uncomfortable or in any way –“ 

“No wait, back it up. You like me?”

“Of course I _like_ you.”

“I mean, you _like me_ like me?”

Spock was obviously getting frustrated; he huffed a little as he said, “I do not see the point in repeating the phrase.”

Jim sighed – Vulcans were way too literal sometimes – and chose his next words much more carefully. “I mean you have feelings for me that go beyond the platonic, into something approaching a more romantic nature.”

Spock opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again, then cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. “Yes.” 

“What about Uhura?”

“What about her? I believe she is well.”

“But you two are together. Aren’t you together?”

“Not for several years. We are now close friends.”

“She kissed you,” Jim said and immediately regretted it – he needed to learn how to quit while he was ahead. 

“An emotional outburst for which she subsequently apologized.”

Jim chewed the inside of his lip. “You like me.”

Spock crossed the space between them in two strides, his face nearly thunderous. “You keep saying this. I more than ‘like you.’ Jim, I am in love with you. I have been since the moment the orchestra began playing during the Andorian opera. The expression on your face made me understand for the first time the illogical human expression that a person can glow. _You glow, Jim._ ” 

Jim’s mouth went dry. “Wow, do you say that to all the boys?”

“I have said that to no one else. Not ever.”

Jim looked at him and saw the truth of it in his eyes, recognized now that Spock had been showing him these emotions all along, and he’d just been too stupid to see it. He stepped forward then, closing the remaining space between them and, placing both his hands on Spock’s face, he kissed him. Shocked, Spock recoiled for a split second, but as Jim licked at the seam of his lips, he opened his mouth and deepened the kiss. His arms came up around Jim’s back, and he pulled them closer together. Jim’s arms went around Spock’s neck and their bodies were now flush against each other.

The kiss lasted a lifetime and ended too soon. They only parted because they were both panting and in need of air. Jim looked at Spock through fogged-up glasses and opened his mouth to speak.

“Jinkies,” Spock whispered and kissed him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to everyone who read and left such lovely comments – you’ve made this all that much more fun.
> 
> And I apologize that there’s absolutely no smut in this – it was not my intention when I began to write. But the mood and tone of this was such that it didn’t seem to really fit in. That said, there will be follow up tags with LOTS of sex, and I may or may not have figured out how to do a real sequel where I try to fix Into Darkness as well, LOL. But first, I have to get started on my Spock Prime Big Bang.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your time.
> 
> You can also find me on Tumblr @rabidchild67, I hope you'll consider following me there.


End file.
